


Parole

by almaasi



Series: Pegging and Parole [2]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alternate Canon, Asexual Elim Garak, Autistic Julian Bashir, Bisexual Julian Bashir, Canon Divergence, Communication Failure, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drama, First Kiss, Fluff, Haircuts, Illustrated, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Julian Bashir, Polyamorous Julian Bashir, Romance, Sharing a Bed, Stimming, set very early season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:47:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26940871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: When Garak gets out of prison on parole, Julian travels for three days to meet him. Late-night talks on the journey back to DS9 consistently become cuddles and bunk-sharing, to both of their comfort and delight. But after three months communicating mainly in letters, Julian’s a little out of practice turning his thoughts into spoken words. Secrets kept; truths revealed... Maybe Garak’s not the only one who needs a second chance.☆This is a sequel to the fic “Square Peg Round Hole” (wherein Julian moans Garak’s name in bed with Leeta and then scrambles to obfuscate). The stories are separated out because this one’s sweet and the other one is smutty. You can read one without the other!
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak, Julian Bashir/Leeta
Series: Pegging and Parole [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958500
Comments: 46
Kudos: 115





	1. A Lot to Catch Up On

**Author's Note:**

> Beta’d by [lighthouse](https://fineillgettheapp.tumblr.com/), [ConceptaDecency](https://conceptadecency.tumblr.com/), and [Arinaca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arinaca).
> 
> Major thanks to [ConceptaDecency](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConceptaDecency) for a) filling in the blanks for this fic idea so I had enough to build on, and b) for engaging me in some subsequent nonsense. Garak’s prison nickname is courtesy of said nonsense.
> 
> Also thanks to Chaos Uncle Andy Robinson for his apathy regarding happiness? I guess? ([video](https://youtu.be/ydmLm7wA1nA?t=1408))
> 
>  **Warnings/clarification (spoilers from[prequel fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26848171)!)**: Julian is in the middle of a breakup with Leeta, and has permission to be with Garak, but Julian and Leeta are still technically a couple.
> 
> ☆ [**Art post on tumblr!!**](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/631639718997721088/julian-garak-share-a-runabout-bunk-parole-23k)

**parole**  
(pə-rōl)

> Late 15th century French. Literally ‘word’ or ‘formal promise’. From ecclesiastical Latin **parabola** , referring to comparison, parable, proverb, speech.

_noun_

> 1\. The temporary or permanent release of a prisoner before the expiry of a sentence, on the promise of good behaviour.  
> 2\. (Linguistics) The act of speaking; a particular utterance or word.

Julian had been watching the turbolift door on the far side of the pedestrian overpass for over half an hour. From here the door barely looked two centimetres tall.

Nobody was around. The entire sheltered area would be silent, but a deep melodic howl came and went as wind in the desert whooshed past the internal balconies like breath on the lip of an upturned bottle. Forty metres below, rusty sand swirled about in eddies.

At last! The minuscule, modestly-dressed figure of Elim Garak stepped out of the turbolift, followed closely by a guard.

Julian’s hands unclasped between his parted thighs and delight bounced from his stomach to his throat. “There he is, Commander!”

Breathless, Julian got to his feet.

Lieutenant Commander Worf got up from his place on the bench more slowly. His towering height put him straight into the diagonal sunbeam that already blinded Julian lower down.

As the holding cells on Deep Space Nine were too small for long-term incarceration, the Bajoran judiciary were only too happy to take Garak into their system and place him in a prison on Bajor VIII, since, like many of their worst enemies, he was a Cardassian guilty of conspiracy to commit genocide.

A six-month sentence seemed lenient, didn’t it, given the magnitude of his intent. That was even considering the fact Garak had been trying to exterminate the Changeling Founders, sworn adversaries to all.

Garak being Garak, however, he had somehow managed to wheedle his way out of a longer prison sentence. Now, after a mere three months, he was being turned loose on the grounds of ‘good behaviour’.

And today was the day, the hour, the minute: he was out on parole.

Once Julian was sure the guard had uncuffed Garak, Julian started across the overpass, eyes set on his tailor friend.

Sunlight fluttered over Julian as he strode under each supportive beam of the glass roof, moving from below its highest peak to the part where the translucent shell descended into black brick and newly-inserted technological checkpoints. The air smelled more metallic over here.

By now Garak had received a boxy brown unit of medium-sized luggage, and nodded a few times as the guard spoke to him. He accepted a keycard from the guard and then looked around for something.

Julian began to jog, as he realised Garak was looking for an automatic open-top skimmer, which now approached along the walkway’s track with space for a pair of passengers.

When the skimmer stopped, Garak lifted his small suitcase onto the seat farthest from him, then nodded once more to the guard. He stepped up and sat down—

“Garak!”

Julian sprinted the last ten feet, smacking his hands onto the skimmer’s bonnet and standing in its path before it dared to move.

Garak rose to his feet inside the skimmer, staring down in utter astonishment. “Doctor.”

Julian flashed his biggest, happiest grin. “Surprised to see me?”

“I’m—” Garak let out a breath. “Doctor, I’m speechless.” He stepped out of the skimmer and approached Julian. Garak’s hair had grown long and was tied into a loose ponytail behind his neck. He looked a little different – tired, and thinner, but enlivened. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Commander Worf and I came to collect you and bring you home.”

“Obvious? Doctor, I wasn’t aware you knew I was being released at all.”

“And whose fault is _that_ , I wonder?” Julian chided, unable to help his grin. “Honestly, after all the letters you sent me about taking up cross-stitch and getting caught up in a contraband sewing-needle scheme, you could’ve at least mentioned _once_ that you somehow connived your way out of further trouble.”

Garak put on a slowly-growing smile that stretched the corners of his lips upward and crinkled his eyes. “In truth, Doctor, I did no such thing. Apparently there are prisoners who’ve committed far worse crimes who could take my place.”

“What a comforting thought,” Julian said warily.

“On the contrary,” Garak said, “I find myself thoroughly conflicted about the idea. But I’m hardly about to argue the point, am I? Freedom is freedom, Doctor. Even if it means going back to the place I was exiled.”

Julian sighed with a smile, shoulders sinking.

He shook his head as his smile faded.

“Garak,” he said, “I had to hear from _Leeta_ that you were getting out. What were you going to do, just show up on DS9 and get back to work hemming pants like nothing ever happened? Did you genuinely imagine I wouldn’t _care_ you’re out of prison? Four years of friendship, and this is what it comes to.”

“Ah, my dear Doctor... you misunderstand my reasons for keeping silent.” Garak’s blue eyes darted to a presence behind Julian, but Julian didn’t turn, supposing Worf would rather stand guard than be included in the conversation. Garak returned his attention fully to Julian, then lowered his gaze to Julian’s heart. “Hearing about the many miserable events you’ve endured while I’ve been away, I thought you could use a more pleasant surprise.”

Julian’s eyebrows rose. “You were going to surprise me?”

“It seems, however, that the pleasant surprise came to me. Quite to my glee, Doctor.” He beamed at Julian, tipping his head gratefully. “I’m _very_ glad you came.”

“Oh, it’s really nothing, it’s...” Julian tried to bumble through a careless dismissal, but his jaw shook on his lie and he blasted the remainder of his breath out in a vocal sigh. He flung himself into Garak’s personal space and hugged him tightly, arms wrapped around his neck, nose pushed to his prison-issue civilian shirt.

Although shocked silent for a number of seconds, Garak soon chuckled, shaking Julian’s chest with the sound. A warm hand came to rest on the back of Julian’s neck, then another arm banded around his waist.

They stayed in each other’s embrace, squeezing tighter and tighter until Garak huffed in claustrophobic distress, and Julian had to let him go.

All Julian wanted was to hug him again, but settled for meeting his eyes and smiling.

“Come on,” he said, laying a hand on Garak’s shoulder ridges, thumb on an exposed scale. “We have a Starfleet runabout waiting. Guess you won’t need your skimmer after all.”

“Indeed.” Garak picked up his case from the skimmer’s seat, then looked down at the keycard he’d been awarded to start the vehicle. He glanced back to see if the guard was still present. Finding they were alone, Garak twisted his fingers and hid the card up his sleeve. “One never knows when certain things might come in useful.”

Julian rolled his eyes. He turned Garak in the direction of the exit, keeping his hand on his shoulder.

Worf hummed disapprovingly at Garak’s general existence, but after one perfunctory squinty glare, he took up the rear and followed Julian and Garak down the covered overpass, in and out of sunbeams. His footsteps echoed on the glossy floor out of time with theirs.

Eventually Julian let his hand slide from Garak’s shoulder, slipping down his arm. He didn’t want to let go – but Garak _looked_ at him, and Worf would see if Julian took Garak’s hand, so Julian let go and glanced far away, licking his lips to hide his shaky smile. His heart wouldn’t stop fluttering.

Having come up with a plan, he looked back to Garak, but a hundred conversation-starters all bubbled up at once and he said, “Bhhh.” He coughed and hurried to say, “Bag? Carry it? For you.” He offered a hand. “Ih-ih-ih-ih-ih-if you want.”

Garak, although perplexed by Julian’s sudden ineloquence, managed a smile, and let Julian slip his fingers around his and take the suitcase’s handle from him. For a moment they’d come close to holding hands, and even once it was over, Julian still felt the heat of him in the clunky Cardassian handle.

“This thing’s heavy,” Julian said, lifting the case up and down a few times. “What on Bajor’s inside it, Garak?”

“If you didn’t want to carry it, Doctor, you needn’t have volunteered.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want to carry it, I just want to know what’s inside.”

“Oh, nothing of import. Some clothes, snacks, and grooming products for the journey.”

“Is that all? Feels like there’s a few books in here, at least.”

Garak sniffed. “You know, I’m astounded,” he said, once he peered over a balcony barrier and spotted the small-sized runabout parked in the sand below the overpass. His long hair wafted high in black strands as warm updrafts came curling up from below. “Captain Sisko not only gave approval to send one of the station’s precious few functional runabout ships to collect me, even though I already had transport arranged, but he also allowed two of his senior officers to make the journey. Three days here, three days back – given the time difference, once you return you’ll have been gone a week. I must be more valuable to your little crew than I realised.”

Worf grumbled, “Do not flatter yourself. Captain Sisko made many good cases against this... endeavour.”

“Oh?” Garak looked back at Worf as they stopped near a turbolift. Garak set his empty hands on the walkway’s barrier, looking at the commander openly.

Julian’s skin burned with oncoming embarrassment, and he press-press-pressed the button to summon the turbolift as Worf explained: “If Dr. Bashir did not insist for personal reasons that he collect you himself, I do not doubt that he and I would still be on the station, attending to our real duties. Captain Sisko refused to allow the doctor to complete the journey alone or with an officer he could overrule in command on a whim.” Worf’s tone darkened. “I... am not here... willingly.”

Garak chuckled. “And to think! Commander, I thought you’d rather come to _like_ me after I almost beat you in a fight.”

“You did not in any way beat me.”

“I did say ‘almost’.” Garak smiled, turning his gaze from Worf to Julian. Their eyes remained locked as Garak entered the turbolift beside him. “Tell me, Doctor,” Garak said, much too happily, “What ‘personal reasons’ did you cite in your case for collecting me?”

Julian tried not to look back, but kept doing so anyway. Garak watched him with pure glee, eye contact unwavering.

“Well,” Julian said, clasping his own hands behind his back, thumbing at Garak’s heavy case. He shrugged and watched the turbolift doors close. “I missed you.”

  
  
**☆**  
  


Once on the runabout, Garak went straight for the replicator. “I’ll have one red leaf tea, one I’danian spiced pudding, and a hot mashed Terran potato with a sprinkling of rock salt, slightly more butter than would be considered healthy, a topping of grated cheddar cheese, and six whole brine-preserved pimento-stuffed olives.”

Julian slowly leaned his buttocks down to the seat of his pilot’s chair, watching Garak eagerly collect his food from the replicator. “You’ve been planning that order.”

“For many months,” Garak confirmed. He sat in Worf’s chair, then got up again because Worf glared.

Julian hopped up and offered his own seat, and Garak sat to eat.

“Ahh... As I suspected. Earl Grey.” Garak sniffed the tea sadly – then his eye-ridges rose in surprise. “Perhaps I’ve been deprived of the sheer diversity of Starfleet runabout replicators for too long.” He sipped his least-favourite tea and sighed in delight. “Oh, how I’ve missed this.”

Julian leaned his butt against the console next to Garak. “I still can’t believe they don’t give you tea in prison. That must’ve been torture for you.”

“As I’ve said _numerous_ times in my letters, Doctor, I was not denied entirely. Alas, the Bajorans are more inclined towards the chilled, sugared tea varieties. Occasionally there was the offer of coffee, or other hot and nutritious beverages. I’ve come to appreciate a good soup. But there’s nothing like a steaming mug of some flavoursome leaf steeped in hot water, and a quiet, private moment to enjoy it.”

“But you didn’t get it.”

“No. I can’t count the number of times I requested a teabag only to be denied.”

Worf claimed the brief silence. “If you were granted your every request then I’d fail to see how imprisonment would feel like a punishment.”

Garak waggled a knowing finger. “Ah. You’re quite right. I’ve learned my lesson, Commander.”

“No more well-intentioned genocide and mass-murder for you,” Julian teased, knocking Garak’s ankle with the tip of his shoe.

“Not while Mr. Worf is likely to catch me, no,” Garak replied.

Worf gritted his teeth, eyes on his console as he readied the ship and had it cleared for departure. “Doctor, you should sit down for liftoff.”

“Bit of a problem, isn’t it,” Julian said, glancing around. “This thing’s barely any bigger than a shuttle. Two pilot seats. Only two bunks in the back. You’d almost think, Commander, that you picked this runabout with the thought in mind that Garak wouldn’t be coming back with us at all.”

Worf didn’t look over. “Perhaps it was wishful thinking.”

Garak, with a mouthful of pudding, shuffled over in his seat. “Plenty of room beside me, Doctor.”

Julian sat with his thigh pressed to Garak’s. He’d lost a little weight in prison, Julian noted, and the two of them nearly fit on the wide seat. 

“Olive?” Garak offered.

Julian chuckled and speared an olive out of the mashed potato with Garak’s little fork. He pulled it into his mouth with his toothy grin, then handed over the fork. Garak had eaten his dessert first, but now went into the mashed potato with obvious joy in his eyes.

Orange Bajoran desert sands went whisking past the viewscreen as the runabout left the prison’s cover and shot into sunlight. Worf angled the ship upward, and Julian leaned back in his seat, pressed there by his own weight. Garak rotated his tray of food, trying to keep it steady as the centre of gravity moved about.

The ship rose and headed for the open sky.

Julian’s ears popped, and Garak held his nose and forced air towards his own ears, compensating as the pressure changed.

Eventually space-worthy pressurisation took over, and things felt comfortable in the cockpit again. They couldn’t go to warp speed yet, as they were too close to the planet, so they trundled along at impulse.

Stars gleamed amongst the blackness all around. The pinpricks looked like they weren’t getting any nearer, but they were. Just slowly.

“Garak, why mashed potato?” Julian asked, raising a heel onto the shared seat. “Why _olives_?”

Garak chuckled. “Comfort food, my dear Doctor. Comfort food. There’s a great deal of hedonism I intend to catch up on. After I’m done eating, I intend to take a very long nap.”

“Oh.” Julian’s heart sank. “I was hoping we could talk. Letters were lovely, and all, but they’re really no match, are they?”

“We have three days together in this runabout, Doctor,” Garak assured him. “Plenty of time for face-to-face conversation.”

Worf was greatly beleaguered by that statement. He gave Garak and Julian a hard look. “If you intend to _talk_ for three days, I _recommend_ you do it elsewhere.”

There was no denying the threat woven between every word, if less subtle than Garak’s own stitchwork. Julian had all but driven his commander mad with his chatter on the way here. Worf wasn’t about to sit through it all again, and certainly not if Garak was going to encourage him.

“Alright,” Julian said. He turned to Garak and gazed at him, laying his temple back against the headrest. “How about, my dear Mr. Garak, once you’re done eating, you and I go to bed together.”

Garak paused mid-chew. He blinked at Julian. “I beg your pardon?”

Julian grinned a lopsided grin, heart afloat. “We can talk in the bunks, where we won’t disturb Mr. Worf. And then you get your nap.”

“Oh.” Garak swallowed. “Oh, yes. Quite. A fine idea, Doctor.”

Julian was sure he saw Garak blush.

Maybe he blushed too.

Look, it was a bad time to flirt. He knew that. He knew Worf thought it was heinous that Julian would even _want_ to.

But maybe, after so long of not being able to, flirting with Garak felt really, _really_ good.

Like many other things they’d both been deprived of these last months, they had an awful lot to catch up on.

  
  
**☆**  
  



	2. Room to Bunk

Usually, the runabout vessels attached to DS9 had four pilot chairs, two washrooms plus a replicator in the hallway, then a spacious conference room in the back with bunkbeds either side of the door.

Shuttles were smaller, with only two pilot chairs – and they often had a small cargo bay and no bunks at all.

Worf had chosen the smallest runabout, _Niagara_ -class, which married the two vessel types. There were three small rooms: the cockpit, which was about the size of a shuttle’s and contained the replicator; then a small hallway which branched off into a single washroom on the left and a two-person bunk room further ahead.

The bunk room was darkly-panelled, as gloomy as Julian’s regular quarters at night, but had a single floor-to-ceiling window looking out at the space they’d already flown past. Julian kept his eyes on that brighter view, resisting the urge to turn around.

Behind him he could hear Garak undressing, rummaging through his little suitcase to find a change of underwear, then slipping into it.

All the while, Garak talked: “What I fail to understand, even now, is how the comparison holds up. Surely a better metaphor would have been drawn from Cardassian fauna or culture rather than yours. These are Bajorans we’re talking about, Doctor. Of course there were other Cardassian prisoners in my cell block, and, as you know, I became quite friendly with a Romulan tomb-looter, but somehow the Terran nickname stuck. It seems even in the depths of Bajoran space, the _Humanity_ of the Federation still has its privileges, and thus its pitfalls. Perhaps it was yet another dig at me, after all. I was brought in by the Federation, and thus, aligned with your nonsense.”

Julian wished he could give Garak a baffled look, but he definitely wasn’t wearing pants yet. “Garak,” he said, “how are you _still_ upset about the nickname? Honestly, it sounds cute to me.”

“Cute!” Garak kicked his discarded clothing into a corner, and Julian allowed his eyes to move that way, seeing only the well-stretched waistband of a pair of grey briefs designed to slim the wearer’s middle. “Add insult to injury, Doctor, by all means. Not only was I named after something so _fluffy_ and _fat_ , but a creature historically known to plague your streets with disease and scavenge from the garbage. _Pidgey._ It’s revolting.”

“Look, pigeons aren’t that terrible. They just get a bad rep. White doves are pigeons, and everyone loves doves. Symbols of peace.”

“If a pigeon is to a dove what a Cardassian is to a Human, then I must have seemed to my fellow prisoners to have been a pompous, off-colour facsimile of something far greater. I cannot even be recognised as a Cardassian. On _Bajor_! Perhaps I’ve spent too much time with you. I’ve picked up your habits, your tastes.”

“Mashed potatoes,” Julian noted.

“Exactly.”

There was a thump as Garak sat heavily on the side of the bottom bunk. Julian chanced a look, and when he saw Garak was dressed in black silk pyjamas, he turned completely and sat down next to him.

The suitcase had been placed against the opposite wall three feet away, locked again.

“Listen,” Julian said, sensing that Garak was still disgruntled, “people gave me nicknames all the time growing up. Let’s just say there were an awful lot of things about me that might’ve inspired a play on words. I found... the only way to get around the pain of it all was to embrace it. Turn it into a joke. Become a caricature of yourself.” He considered what he’d just said. “In hindsight... I think that was probably a bit traumatic. But I can’t imagine _you_ went three months being called ‘Pidgey’ and didn’t strut around muttering to yourself, all ruffled up, wearing something colourful at _least_ once.”

Garak hung his head. “Unfortunately I think that kind of behaviour might’ve been what inspired the name in the first place.”

Julian laughed, head back, rocking on the bed. He leaned forward again, giving Garak a soft look. “Sorry,” he said, heartfelt. Then he sighed, and leaned in to press his shoulder against Garak’s. “ _God_ , I’ve missed you, Garak. Grime and all.”

Garak looked at him in soft surprise. He opened his mouth to reply, but didn’t. He smiled, perhaps sadly, and looked down at his lap.

Julian watched Garak retreat into himself.

“Garak...” Julian nudged him again. Their eyes met. Julian felt his eyes prickle and his throat tighten as he begged, ashamed but unable to stop himself, “Tell me you missed me too...?”

Garak’s eyes widened in surprise. “Oh! Oh, my _dear_ , don’t even _question_ it.” He shook his head slowly, smiling. “My sincerest apologies for my reticence. I merely found myself confounded by the idea that you yet again forgive me for my crimes. Mr. Worf is very sensible in not trusting me, I think. I do learn badly.”

“Mr. _Worf_ ,” Julian said playfully, tipping down his chin and giving Garak a dark look, “doesn’t trust me, either. Even Sisko thinks I’m a bit unpredictable when it comes to you.”

“Ah. Hence sending you to fetch me with a _chaperone_.”

Julian grinned down at his knees, running his palms up and down his thighs, rumpling his uniform pants. “Maybe he thought you’d rope me into some heist or something on the way back. You are on parole, after all. One toe over the line and you’ll be back in a holding cell.”

“So he had our best interests at heart,” Garak supposed.

Julian noted that Garak said ‘our’, and was thrilled that Garak recognised how Julian had suffered without his company these last months.

Garak took a deep breath, which became a deep and droning note as he yawned, fist hovering in front of his gaping maw.

“Sleepy, I see,” Julian said.

“I feel as if I’ve been kept awake and alert since the moment I left DS9,” Garak said, blinking dopily. He glanced back at the bunk they sat on, a wanton look in his eyes. “And by my calculation, it’s currently night on the station as well. If I’m to re-adjust to the daily rhythm I ought to begin now.”

Julian hummed, palms together, knuckles squeezed between his knees. “C-Could we keep talking...? Just for a couple more minutes?” He looked at Garak hopefully.

Garak tilted his head in a fond smile. “Of course, Doctor. Tell me, what fantastical or exciting things have occurred in the delay between the arrival of my last letter and the sending of yours?”

“Mm...” Julian glanced around. “OH!” He threw a hand to grip Garak’s arm. “We went back in time! Miles and me and Odo and Sisko and Jadzia and Worf – we went back over a hundred years. The Bajoran Orb of Time— Tribbles! Garak, you would’ve hated it – the _clothes_ —”

Julian threw himself backwards onto the bunk, hands grasping his head. “The mad thing wasn’t even the adventure itself, but when we got _back_ —” He looked imploringly at Garak, who slowly lay down next to Julian, one bare foot touching Julian’s booted toes on the floor. “Do you know how hard it is to get rid of thousands of tribbles? Do you know how _illegal_ it is?”

“If I gave you my honest answer to that, Doctor, I’m sure it would raise many more questions.”

Julian looked at him, heart leaping. “Oh, now I’m intrigued.”

“Are you ever anything else?”

“Well, sometimes I’m frustrated.”

“A good look on you, I think.”

Julian grinned. He watched Garak try to stifle another yawn, but of course he failed, and lay there with his mouth wide open and eyes tight shut for almost twenty seconds.

Julian sighed. “I suppose I’d better tell you the whole story tomorrow. You’d barely pay attention anyway.”

“Hm?” Garak blinked dazedly as the yawn ended. “Did you say something? I went deaf for a moment there.”

Julian bit his lip in a grin and rolled to crane over Garak, patting his chest twice. “Get some sleep, will you? Oh— _Ooh_.” He paused to stroke Garak’s pyjamas, fingertips running up to Garak’s clavicle and then down to his navel. “Nice fabric.”

“Ah! Yes. I recall I had plenty of it in the shop when I left; I can make you something to fit once we get to the station.”

“Oh, no, no, you don’t have to...” But Julian hesitated, thumbing the utterly sleek texture that barely concealed the feel of the ridges on Garak’s chest. “But I’d take a fabric sample, maybe?” He smiled. “Just to stroke.”

Garak rolled his eyes. “I’ll fashion you some nightwear, Doctor.”

Julian groaned, “ _Oh_ , but then I’ll get into bed and I won’t be able to stop _touching_ myself...”

Garak caught his eyes. He slowly sat up on his elbows, clearly fascinated by Julian. Julian kept stroking his chest, until he allowed his hand to linger on Garak’s thumping heart.

Julian realised he was getting close to the edge again; too obvious, too forward. He usually only got like this with women. He withdrew his hand and wet his lips, turning his hot face away. “Um.” He gulped. “Right. You— You’re sleeping. And I’m—” He got up, rubbing his fiery face with his cooler palms. “I should sleep too.”

He began to undress out of his turquoise-shouldered Starfleet jumpsuit, peeling the top half off down to his waist – then he turned, expecting (and hoping) to see Garak watching him. But Garak had rolled deeper into the bunk and was now burying himself under the thin, dark blanket.

Julian sighed to himself in silence. He undid his boots and sat on Garak’s bunk to peel off his socks. With the socks tossed on the pile with Garak’s underwear, Julian stood again and undressed to his lilac-grey turtlenecked bodysuit, tugging down the wedgie the crotch always gave him. The tiny bit of plumpness between his legs wasn’t helping matters.

Gosh, he really did like that pyjama fabric.

...And what was under it.

After giving Garak’s blanket lump one last longing look, Julian stood on the edge of Garak’s mattress and swung a knee up to the upper bunk. The sheets were cold up here, and the bed creaked.

He shuffled his way in and lay on his back. He pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, then shoved it down to his waist.

He rocked one way.

Then rolled the other.

Not only was the bed creaky, but it was uncomfortable. It was like there was something hard right in the middle of the padding.

“Hmm... Julian,” Garak mumbled. “Might I trouble you by asking you to lie still? I can’t say I enjoyed having cellmates, but they generally slept in silence.”

Julian jumbled about a bit more, then settled. “Go to sleep, Garak. I’ll try not to wriggle.”

“Much appreciated.”

Julian tucked his hands behind his head, smiling. He could _smell_ Garak even from up here – a wonderfully familiar scent, all dusty and dry.

Then Julian frowned. There really was something hard in the middle of the bed. He arched his back and stuck a hand under his spine, patting around until he found—

He pulled out a padd. “What’s this doing here?” he wondered. “Must’ve been missed when whoever-it-was changed the sheets. This runabout’s been in storage for God knows how long...”

“Doctor...”

“Sorry! Sorry. I just found someone’s lost padd under my back.” He turned it on, and was unsurprised to see it connect to the ship’s communications array and search for updates. A popup appeared: _Low connectivity. Offline access only._

Well, no wonder. They were in the middle of nowhere by now.

He was about to turn it off again and set it aside when an update began to download.

He waited a full minute for the update to install and calibrate.

And then it began to play automatically.

“ _Come to Quark’s, Quark’s is fun! Come right now; don’t walk – RUN!_ ”

Julian smacked his forehead with the padd.

Below him, Garak said, “Forgive me for asking, Doctor, but _what_ was _that_?”

“I didn’t mean to, Garak, it just— This jingle’s been jangling all over the Bajoran sector for months. I thought we were free of it...” Julian paused. “Now, wait just a minute. _You_ were still on the station when it started. It was absolute _hell_ , people couldn’t go two minutes without hearing it.”

Confused, Julian leaned out of the bunk and hung his torso low to peer down at the sleepy Garak. “Either you’ve never heard it because you live under a _rock_ , or Worf and I have picked up a Changeling.”

Garak snorted. “If I were a Changeling, Doctor, I’m sure I would’ve done a better job looking the way you remembered me looking.”

“That’s a good point. Then again, maybe the long hair and weight loss and visible fatigue is just to fool me into thinking you’re _not_ a Changeling.”

Garak gave an irritated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes shut. “My dear,” he said, “if we could discuss the minutia of my potentially being an enemy spy after I’ve had some rest? I’d be delighted to oblige you, truly I would, but I really am very tired.”

“Garak, for all I know the suitcase is the goo bucket you’ve brought with you, and once I’m asleep you’ll go rest in there.”

Garak slapped the bed, glaring at Julian. “An astute observation, Doctor. One problem, however.” He slung his legs out of bed and charged over to the suitcase. Burning with curiosity, Julian dropped out of his own bunk and approached, tugging down his bodysuit crotch again and again, self-conscious about his bare legs.

Once he’d checked Julian was watching, Garak unlocked the case with a shifting symbol drawn on a sensor with a thumb, and it snapped open.

“I’d like to see where a Changeling would even _fit_ ,” Garak said, presenting the open case to Julian, “given how much I had to bring with me.”

There were clothes, of course. Bulky, thick things folded tight. A toothbrush and paste and some moisturiser and hair oil were grouped inside a see-through bag.

But Julian reached in, heart abuzz as he picked up the first of the letters he’d written. Then a second. Then a third. His eyes skipped back and his fingers danced and he counted nearly forty thick envelopes there, crammed in tight. Two were in Garak’s handwriting: missives he’d penned for Julian only to keep them back once he knew he’d be returning to DS9.

“You kept them _all_ ,” Julian whispered.

His messages been organised in order. Some of the letters’ corners were marked with pen to denote the contents: at a glance he’d picked out the keywords “laundry”, “lonely”, and “hands”. In a flash he remembered writing about having put all his jumpsuits in the wash so he had to go to work wearing a skant that only just covered his bottom. Once he’d written to Garak, drunk, lamenting that he felt so alone sometimes, despite having people around him, and wished Garak could be there so they could be lonely together. Another time he’d run out of things to do one off-duty afternoon, so practised drawing medical diagrams by doodling his own hands, then had sent them to Garak for whatever reason. Now what Julian wanted to know was why _those_ letters had been marked as special.

“You hardly expected me to throw them out, did you?” Garak grumbled. “Leave them behind in prison for someone to find or destroy? Why would my keeping them surprise you?” His expression changed, annoyance turning to wary sadness. “You... threw mine out...?”

“What?! Oh, _God_ , Garak, _no_.” Julian huffed. He tucked the first letters back with the others. “What kind of unsentimental monster do you think I am? No, Miles made me a little box to put them all in. He said they were going to get lost because I kept them all over my quarters, and he was right. There’s a Cardassian regnar carved on the top of the box. I know they’re your favourite animal.”

Garak’s sadness had evaporated and now he looked relieved. “You’ll have to show me this box of yours.”

“Oh,” Julian closed up the suitcase and let it lock itself. “Trust me, you’ll see it.”

Garak put the suitcase down. “Quark,” he said, “once informed me he was considering inserting a jingle into every replicator and padd and, if he could manage it, computer. I began to avoid using devices connected to public networks, and – you remember – I refused to eat at the bar. Naturally I screened my computer for viruses, thus saving myself from what you described as ‘hell’ until it was all over. Perhaps I ought to have embraced the discomfort, Doctor, if only so you wouldn’t think that _I_ was a _Changeling_. Are you convinced now, or must I prove it some other way?”

Julian smiled gently. “Garak, you smell exactly the way I remember you. Changelings can mimic an awful lot, but I’ll be damned if _their_ smell gets all spicy when they get annoyed at me.”

Garak’s eyes shot down. He looked like he was trying very hard not to blush. “You can smell my pheromones?”

Julian flushed hot, realising most Humans probably couldn’t, and he, with his enhanced senses, was undoubtedly the exception. “Oh— Oh, just a bit. Not always. Ahm.” He looked away. “Ah-anyway. Sleeping.”

They cautiously returned to their bunks, refusing to look at each other.

After a minute tucked in bed, Garak uttered, “ _Hmm_ -hmm-hmm, Quark’s is fun... Don’t walk, _run_...”

Julian burst out laughing in his own bunk, hands over his eyes. “Ohhhh. Tell me about it. It’s stuck in my head, too.”

“I’m never going to sleep at this rate.”

“I’ll tell you what my mother always said about songs that wouldn’t leave me alone,” Julian uttered, taking the padd and rolling back out of bed. He landed on his feet and tugged down his wedgie yet again. He kneed his way onto Garak’s bed and flopped down beside him on his belly, padd in both hands. “We need to listen to it in its entirety. There’s five verses if you let it play out.”

Garak pulled his blanket out from under Julian, then lay it over Julian’s back. “Somehow I think that would make it infinitely worse.”

Julian, with one leg still exposed and getting cold, snuck closer to Garak so they were both fully covered and very warm. “Well, there’s got to be more music on here somewhere. Maybe we can listen to something better and blast the jingle right out.” He scrolled through the padd’s library, looking for musical audio files.

“Please,” Garak said, eyes closed, “no Klingon opera.”

“Lullabies,” Julian said, having found some. “No lyrics.”

“Hm.” Garak glanced over. He watched Julian select a lullaby. Julian then rested his cheek on his pillowed hands, face turned towards Garak.

It was a nice little wind-orchestra piece, slow and sweet and nameless. It flowed through notes, finding and collecting catchy tunes, but releasing them and moving on. Julian shut his eyes and smiled. It put him in mind of a river glittering with gold in a sunset, reeds wafting at the banks in a sweet-scented breeze. It would have felt like autumn, were it not for the heat under the blankets. Here, between them, they lay in the peak of a gentle mediterranean summer. Soft earth below. Side-by-side in a bronze sunbeam.

Garak shuffled in the bed, turning from his back to his side. Julian peeked out to find they faced each other now, sharing the same long tube-shaped pillow.

Their eyes lingered on each other for a while, slow blinks and tender smiles.

Inevitably, Garak grew too fatigued to keep his eyes open, and blinks became shut eyes, trusting Julian in ways Julian was sure he never trusted anyone in prison. No wonder he was tired. To shut one’s eyes in the presence of another person was such a vulnerable thing.

“Garak?” Julian whispered, as the song played on but grew quieter.

“Hmm...”

Julian touched Garak’s cheek and Garak’s eyes snapped open. He saw the affection in Julian’s gaze, and a smile spread. Garak shut his eyes again, inching his head forward so they shared breathing space and a lot more warmth.

Julian breathed out, feeling sleep tug him down comfortably. “Garak... I— I’m really glad you’re here.”

Garak reached out and touched Julian’s heart.

Then he fell asleep, abandoning consciousness, in complete faith that Julian would keep him safe as he slept.

  
  
**☆**  
  



	3. Haircuts and Happiness

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” Julian squirmed in delight as he felt Garak’s hand on his waist. “Hallo.” He opened his eyes sleepily. He smirked as he saw puffy-eyed Garak lying close, long hair messed up all over the place. “So _this_ is what you look like in the morning.”

Garak grunted. “You’re no better,” he uttered, pawing black locks out of his grey face.

“I beg your pardon,” Julian frowned. “I think you look lovely.”

Garak leered down at Julian as he lifted his torso. “And we both know your mental processing is sub-par before you’ve had breakfast. I suggest you re-evaluate after we’ve eaten. Excuse me.”

Julian’s breath clutched as he found himself straddled by a hot, heavy Cardassian, who pressed down for a brief moment. Julian was then abandoned as Garak got off him and out of the bunk. Julian shut his eyes tight and let his mouth gape and smile and he bit his lip, then tugged the blanket back into place over himself.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Garak said, already unfastening the side of his pyjamas, “I’d appreciate some privacy so I can dress.”

“Hm.” Julian pulled the blanket up over his head. “Pass me my uniform? I’ll dress under here.”

A gap widened under the blanket and the jumpsuit was inserted along with a cool draft. Julian began to figure out which way around to pull it on.

Soon Garak called from near the door, “I’ll meet you in the cockpit, Doctor. Scones and jam?”

“Hm. ‘Kay. Thank you.”

Julian remained lying in bed once Garak left, too warm and comfortable to want to leave. Garak’s smell was everywhere, on everything – and it was the nice, squishy smell of a Cardassian at ease. This was the way he smelled when he and Julian had shared an especially delicious lunch, and intriguing conversation went on an hour too long.

Julian sighed, slowly, puffing the blanket away from his face.

Well. Better get up.

He pulled back the blanket, and found Garak’s pyjamas folded neatly right next to his head. His hand went to touch the material automatically – and once he’d made contact he couldn’t stop. He unfolded the shirt and lay it over his face, humming in delight, running his hands over it, over his cheeks; eyelids; _lips_. It looked like the shiniest of satins, but moved sweetly over his most sensitive skin like gossamer, like jersey, like a wispy ribbon of cloud turned into fabric. It almost felt like _nothing_ , but the bliss it caused was everything.

And it smelled like a happy Garak. And that made for a happy Julian.

The door slid open and Garak entered, asking, “You haven’t got a spare pair of stock—”

Julian wrenched the pyjama top down and stared at Garak, heartbeat in suspense.

Obviously Garak had seen. But how would he interpret what he’d seen?

Garak started to smirk. “Stockings can be replicated. Maybe the better question is whether _I_ have a spare pair of pyjamas, since you seem to have claimed mine.”

“I, ummm.” Julian sat up, guiltily folding the top on his lap. “It— It was just there. And. I don’t know.”

“No need to explain, Doctor.” Garak looked at him kindly. “It is a very pleasant material.” His eyes lowered to Julian’s blanket-covered crotch, then back to his eyes. “I’d love if you joined me for breakfast. Your food is ready. I read every book you recommended me and I suspect there’s much more to debate than either of us could ever have hoped to capture in writing.”

He turned and left.

Julian had to check his crotch to see if Garak had seen a reaction. But all the giddiness was very much contained in Julian’s chest and lips and hands and toes. He still tingled.

Gritting his jaw, Julian scooted to the edge of the bunk and finally got out of bed.

  
  
**☆**  
  


“Unfortunately, Doctor, you yet _again_ fail to understand the main theme of your own literature. The question is not _whodunnit_ , but _howdunnit_.”

Julian swung back and forth in the pilot’s chair opposite Garak’s, arms folded in annoyance. “You can’t just tell me I read a book wrong, Garak. The _point_ is for the detective to figure out _both_. The ‘who’ comes from the ‘how’, and vice versa. It’s fun to work it out alongside the narrative.”

“And yet! When it comes time for the reveal, each and every detective – whether penned by Christie, by Doyle, or any number of these other copycats – explains in great detail how the killer or thief committed their assorted atrocities—”

“Oh, this isn’t going to be another rant about how they’re _all_ guilty like in Cardassian stories, is it?”

“It is not. Unlike Cardassian stories, where the reader is presented with all the facts, lies or truths in conglomeration, and the task is in _separating_ fabrication from fact, your detectives take the final opportunity to reveal that they have observed something unseen by the reader. An object out of place. A clock set to the wrong time. A conversation had in secret. But the reader was not to know. Where is the fun in being duped by the author, Doctor? Where is the opportunity to outwit them, to guess the outcome before these detectives do?”

“I _gave_ you books where you follow the killer from the get-go, and watch the detective figure it out.”

“And how frustrating it is! Who could enjoy observing someone repeatedly make mistakes that could be avoided if they were any good at their profession?”

Julian sighed, smiling. “You’re never happy, are you?”

“Happy? Happy! I hate the word, Doctor. What a meaningless concept.”

Julian roared out a sigh and threw his head back. “Fine!” He glared at Garak. “Be miserable. Maybe next time I’ll give you a _colouring_ book.”

Garak chuckled with his mouth closed, eyes crinkling.

He saw a notification appear on the runabout’s console, and leaned to check it. He dismissed it and leaned back. Julian’s eyes followed him: Garak’s long black hair had fallen over one shoulder, and with a hand he stroked it into a twisted rope, then released it.

Garak spoke again, returning to literary debate, but Julian forgot to listen.

It was only when he saw Garak’s lips move twice around “ _Doctor? Doctor?_ ” that Julian blink-blink-blinked and came to.

“Pardon?”

Garak looked behind himself, then back to Julian when he saw nothing of interest. “What caught your attention so acutely?”

“Uh— Oh.” Julian glanced down, face heating up. He smiled and met Garak’s eyes again. “You look sort of handsome like that. Your hair. Um.”

Surprised, Garak glanced down at the ends of his overgrown bob, which, after three months uncut, had slithered down to his armpit. He looked back to Julian and asked, “Are you sure you slept well last night, Doctor? Might I offer you some more coffee to improve your cognitive processing?”

“I’m not out of sorts, Garak. You really do look striking. Sort of like a pirate.”

“A _pirate_?”

Oh, that put a smile on Garak’s face. He might’ve made an enemy of happiness, but he certainly befriended it for a moment, now.

“How come you let it grow?” Julian asked, tilting his head, wishing he had the nerve to reach over and play with it. “Back on the station you’d get it cut every couple of weeks.”

Garak flapped a hand and glanced away. “The barber in the prison was sub-par. I’d have left his care sporting a style more suited for a Bolian.”

“Bolians don’t have hair.”

“An astute observation, Doctor. Perhaps you’d make a good detective yourself.”

Julian chuckled aloud, rolling his eyes.

“I think,” Garak said, “the moment we reach the station, I’ll book myself a haircut. I’ve had quite enough of this excess.”

“What?! Oh, but it looks _amazing_!” Julian shifted to sit at the edge of his seat, leaning towards Garak but not going further. “It’s so elegant.”

“Is it indeed,” Garak sneered.

“Genuinely! Look, if you won’t believe me, I’ll show you.” Julian patted around for the padd he’d tucked beside his thigh. He found it and lifted it. “Garak, look at me?”

Garak glanced up, caught unawares as Julian snapped a picture of him with the padd’s camera.

“ _Really_ , Doctor,” Garak chided. “There is a mirror in the washroom, and I’ve caught sight enough times to know I look a mess.”

“But you’re not seeing what I see.” Julian got up and stood closer. He leaned his hip on Garak’s chair and hung a hand on the backrest, offering Garak the padd so he could view the screen. He looked beautiful in the photograph. Captured in a moment off-guard, lips parted, eyes open. He’d been looking at Julian rather than the padd, which, to Julian, lent the image a more vulnerable feel, as if a third party had seen something exchanged between the two of them in silence. “There,” Julian said firmly. “ _Now_ will you keep your hair long?”

Garak turned his head and looked up at Julian in disgust. “Keep it? Doctor, if you’ve convinced me of anything, it’s that I’d rather be sent to my grave before setting foot on the station looking like this. If you’ll excuse me—” He pushed Julian aside and stood up, “I’m going to replicate some scissors.”

“Scis— Garak!” Julian chased after him and put himself between Garak and the replicator.

Then Julian hesitated, all arguments expiring bitterly on his tongue. He sighed, holding Garak’s defiant gaze. “I guess it’s really not up to me, is it? If you really want to cut your hair, I won’t stop you. But at least wait until Worf’s taking his shift.”

Garak stepped past. “I’d much rather perform delicate tasks while fresh and awake, Doctor. Scissors.” The replicator provided medical-grade scissors with silver blades.

“You can’t cut your own hair, you can’t see the back!”

“It’s a straight cut across. I know what it’s meant to feel like.”

“Garak— Garak, wait.” Julian took Garak’s arm, keeping him in the cockpit. The doors to the hallway hissed open, then closed again. Julian swallowed. “Let me do it.”

Garak laughed like Julian had told a joke. “Tell me,” he said, eyes twinkling, “do you have any experience as a barber?”

Julian pried the scissors out of his hand. “I have more experience with non-sewing scissors than you do. Plus – Leeta gave me some grooming tips when we started dating. And for goodness’ sake, at least I _can_ see the back.”

Garak seemed to relax, giving Julian a thoughtful look. “Set the ship to fly on autopilot, Doctor.”

Julian beamed. “Hm.” He spun the scissors’ padded handles around a thumb and said, “Get yourself a stool and something protective to catch the hair, would you? Meet you in the washroom in a minute.”

  
  
**☆**  
  


Julian knocked on the washroom door, and the door opened to reveal Garak sitting on an empty cargo container with a pillow placed on top, while his hands were busy arranging a sleek black barber’s cloak around his shoulders. Bright-eyed, he gave Julian a smile.

“Ready?” Julian asked.

“I was ready three months ago, when my hair began prickling the back of my neck.”

The washroom was small but well-lit, with a walk-in sonic shower ahead, fitted into the nook spanning the three metre-width of the room. On Julian’s right was a sink centred on a ledge with a metal surface either side, where Julian set down the scissors. Garak had put a brush there already. Between the sink ledge and the shower, the toilet lid was usually left open, but Garak had closed it for this activity.

There were no windows in this room, and Julian worried Garak might start to feel claustrophobic, so he made sure the door to the hall was set to stay open, and then turned Garak around on his makeshift stool so he faced the mirror, right next to the exit.

Julian reached for Garak’s head, but resisted his urge to sink his fingers into those glossy locks. “Can I touch you?”

“I suspect you’d struggle to attend to my hair without doing so.”

“I realise that. But may I?”

“Touch me all you like, Doctor.”

Julian’s spine tingled and his stomach flipped in gratification the moment his hand met Garak’s scalp. He pushed his fingertips deeply through the dense hair and pulled it upward, turning it against the growth, letting it trickle down in segments. He bunched it between his palms, raising it into a ponytail and exposing the scales at the nape of Garak’s neck. He combed it between his fingers, working and working it and making Garak’s head bob. He felt around Garak’s ears, then his hairline, touching Garak’s forehead ridges as he did.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your artistic process, my dear,” Garak said quietly, “but all you need to attend to is the ends.”

“ _I_ know...” Julian stroked all Garak’s hair back again, smoothing it straight. “It’s just...”

He didn’t say it was a shame to cut it, because _Garak_ wanted it cut – and even though Julian liked to look at it, _he_ wasn’t the one with hair prickling his chest or getting it caught around his neck as he slept.

That aside... Julian had wanted to find out the texture of Cardassian hair for too long. It was softer and thicker than it looked. Even without oil to keep it tidy, it moved in jumps and then returned to its natural position in a single shift. It was fun to play with and he wanted to keep touching it.

Julian let go of a heavy, wistful sigh, and said, “Alright.” He took up his scissors. “Just up to your shoulders, yes?”

“You know how it usually is.”

Julian realised hair would drop everywhere if he cut it directly, so put down the scissors again and began to plait Garak’s hair.

Garak chuckled. “Do you know, Doctor, I’ve never met a man as openly tactile as you are. And I find myself increasingly impressed by how much indulgence you allow yourself. I wonder, are you exhibiting a general lack of restraint, or are you growing lax around me specifically?”

“I’m just trying to keep the mess to a minimum, Garak,” Julian replied, blushing. “That’s all.”

“I’m sure.”

“Really.” Julian realised Garak was watching him in the mirror and could definitely see the blush, because Julian could see his own blush. “Ugh, stop looking at me.”

“Afraid your performance would _suffer_ with an audience, are you? If that were true, how you’ve ever managed to engage in intimate relations with anyone is quite beyond me.”

Julian didn’t answer. Too busy blushing.

He took Garak’s hair tie from Garak’s wrist – Garak was astonished that his hand had been taken until he realised why – and Julian ended the plait with a tight binding.

Garak kept his eyes on the mirror. “Any time you’d like to begin, Doctor...”

Julian tested the scissors on nothing: _snipsnipsnip_. He let out a careful breath through rounded lips, then set the blunt side of the scissors to the back of Garak’s neck. He scooted a centimetre lower, just to be safe.

“Here we go...”

He began to chomp the blades at the plait, cutting a hundred hairs at a time but still having more work to do. The scissors hissed and snipped on the hair and the hair came tumbling down to prick at his steadying fist, more and more pulling away as the plait collapsed into his grip.

Julian let out a huge breath once the plait was severed. He’d performed surgical operations less disconcerting than that.

“Voila,” he said, presenting Garak with the now-unplaited offcut. Garak took it.

“...Three months in prison,” Garak said quietly, head turning down as he looked at the plait in his lap. His shorter hair fluttered to tickle his ears. “I suppose, now, I... begin anew.”

Julian lay a hand on Garak’s shoulder, and Garak peered up over that shoulder, tucking loose hair behind an ear to see Julian.

Julian didn’t know what to say. So he stroked Garak’s hair back from forehead to neck, and returned to stand behind him, adjusting his scissors and tidying up.

Garak did his best to keep his head straight, but Julian occasionally caught him turning his head a bit, watching Julian in the mirror. He straightened his head each time with a gentle nudge of fingers.

Julian spent almost ten minutes making sure he did a perfect job, that the cut was straight, that no strands poked out anywhere. He knew Garak liked to oil it back with a slight dip in at the neck, so had Garak recreate that shape with both hands, holding it like that while Julian double-checked how it would fall.

Eventually content, Julian took the barber’s cloak off Garak and folded it so all the hair stayed inside and didn’t litter the floor any more than it had already.

“Take a look,” Julian invited. He kneed the cargo crate stool away so Garak had room to stand in front of the mirror.

Garak inhaled, his grey face brightened by the lights around the mirror. There was a gleam in his eyes. Satisfaction, yes, but also... something else.

Tears of mourning?

Pride?

Garak noticed Julian watching him, and spoke to his reflection, gently, “There’ve been very few times in my life, Doctor, where I feel I’ve made the right choice, where my choice has rewarded me in some way.

“More often than not, new situations or experiences are the result of... fate, rather than choice. Events occur that I have little control over, and I must embrace the consequences, good or bad, in order to thrive.

“Those rare instances in which my life has altered course at my own hands, it’s been followed by punishment. A prison sentence. My exile to Terok Nor. My time in the Obsidian Order, even, depending on one’s perspective. Too many instances come to mind from my childhood to consider individually. Even the most simple-minded of detectives could put together a conclusion: freely choosing my fate ultimately causes me pain.

“But in this particular instance... perhaps choices of mine converged with fate to give me something not altogether unpleasant.” He took another breath and hung his head, eyes cast low. “I feel... lighter.”

Julian smirked. “Losing twenty centimetres of hair would do that, yeah.”

“Oh, but don’t you _see_ , Doctor?” Garak said, his tone cheerful but weighed down by emotion. He met Julian’s eyes in the mirror again. “I didn’t lose it. I _allowed_ you to take it. And that makes all the difference.”

Garak smiled in the mirror, slowly, eyes crinkled and lips wide.

Julian let out a lungful of air, and decided to grow a little more lax around Garak specifically: he pressed himself to Garak’s back and embraced him from behind, cheek on his shoulder, eyes closed, hands sliding around his middle.

He held him like that, feeling Garak’s breath catch twice, until the blush had burned out of Julian’s face and the hyperactive butterflies in his belly had settled down.

He pulled away, nudging his nose to the shoulder of Garak’s thick tunic as he went.

Unable to meet Garak’s eyes, he bent down and started sweeping up curls of dropped hair with his hands.

“Julian,” Garak said.

Julian managed a quiet, “Hm?”

Garak petted the back of Julian’s bent head, and Julian shot up, finding himself in Garak’s eyeline.

“Thank you,” Garak said, simply. He stroked his fingers twice through the back of Julian’s short hair.

Then he left the bathroom and returned to pilot the ship alone.

Julian let out a breath when Garak was gone. _Shuddering_ hot. He felt so many things that he could barely tell what any of them were.

But, he was sure of one.

Happy.

  
  
**☆**  
  



	4. Blank Piece of Paper

The replicator on the runabout did not have a tennis ball in its index. It did, however, have a hand-warmer of comparable size, which, left unheated, was basically a beanbag. Julian had been tossing it about and fussing its beans from one end of the cloth packet to the other for several hours, keeping bored hands busy.

After a long day debating literature, dissecting food, and complaining about things only to be out-complained, Garak and Julian turned in for the night, giving over control of the ship to Worf once again.

They passed in the hallway. Worf saw how buoyant Garak looked with his fluffy new haircut and three months of conversation caught up on all at once, and naturally disapproved, but one growl and a curled lip covered everything. With their mutual discomfort acknowledged, Garak took his mugs of decaf Earl Grey and sipped his own on the way to the bunk room. Julian waited for him in the doorway, and they entered the darkness together.

“Smells like Worf in here,” Julian uttered, taking the tea Garak offered. “I think he slept in the top bunk.”

“Tell me, do you sense the pheromones of every species you come into contact with, Doctor, or is it just me?”

Julian gave him a playful look: one eye squinting, a smirk rising. “Oh,” he said coquettishly. “Just you.”

“Hm.” Garak seemed proud that he couldn’t tell if Julian was telling the truth or not.

Julian grinned and put his tea down on the side of Garak’s bunk. He then started to undress, opening up his jumpsuit from the collar.

Garak’s eyes darted away twice, having shot back the first time. He turned his back to Julian, and Julian did the same, so they could undress in relative privacy.

Their elbows bumped— “Oh! Sorry,” Julian mumbled.

“No matter,” Garak said. A moment later: “Are you decent?”

Julian tugged down the crotch of his bodysuit, huffing a laugh. “How decent is decent?”

Garak peeked over his shoulder, and Julian peeked over his. They shared a smile and reached to claim their teas again. One moment their hands brushed, and a moment later they stood separately.

“Sit, Doctor,” Garak said, getting onto the bed and resting his back on the wall behind the pillow. “We can talk until the mugs empty.”

Julian knee-shuffled onto the foot of Garak’s bunk and sat cross-legged opposite him. He had to arch his hips up to pull his undershirt down yet again, then sprawled back, getting comfortable.

He wondered why Garak hadn’t yet suggested he redesign the entire Starfleet uniform so the undershirt didn’t ride up like that. Maybe the thought of offering one more time would be overkill, given the fact Starfleet Command had sent him a cease-and-desist after he submitted his fifth request. Or maybe Garak _liked_ getting a peek at Julian’s dark inner thighs. He was certainly looking. Julian, worried it was inappropriate to show off, set his thighs together to one side and hid his crotch under his mug.

“What do you want to talk about?” Julian asked.

Garak took a moment to lift his eyes. “Hm? What? Oh. Oh. Yes.” He inhaled, looking into his steaming mug. “The tea.” He cleared his throat. “Is very good.”

“It is, isn’t it,” Julian agreed. “Same old Earl Grey, though. This’ll sound mad, but I think it tastes better in company.”

“Oh, certainly it does,” Garak said. “In the same way a book is more enjoyable when keeping in mind the opinions of one’s companion for later discussion. A dish gains flavour when the plate is shared. A joke elicits greater amusement when you’re not the only one to laugh. And perhaps a lullaby might sound sweeter... in the presence of another who appreciates it.”

Julian just smiled.

Garak really _had_ missed him.

They did find other things to talk about as the minutes passed, but as they’d established, they each placed less importance on the existence of such a conversation, and more on the fact they could enjoy it as one.

“The thing about letters,” Julian said, as he batted his beanbag from one hand to the other, back and forth, “is that you get too much time to think over what you want to say. On the one hand, I do like that. My points are clearer; I can be more thorough. There’s no problem with me rambling because a longer letter gives _you_ more to enjoy and pull apart. So that gives you something to keep you from going crazy in prison. But on the other hand—” He tossed the beanbag to Garak, who’d just set aside his empty mug and now juggled to catch the beanbag in a wholly undignified way, double chin tucked back and hands awry. “The immediacy of our relationship is gone. It takes three, sometimes four days for my messages to reach you. It takes me a day to read and reply to yours. I’m talking to myself, then listening to you talk to yourself. I can’t stop you and tell you off. I can’t interrupt you and change the subject. I can’t have you change my mind on anything because I’ve just spent too damn long convincing myself of the opposite in a fourteen-page essay. You can’t see me roll my eyes or smile.”

He opened his hands, and Garak tossed him back the beanbag.

Julian threw it again, and Garak caught it.

“I find,” Garak said, “I could, in fact, see you roll your eyes or smile.”

“Oh?”

The beanbag leapt the length of the bed twice more, faster now.

“There were occasions I wrote things I knew you would find inflammatory. It kept the conversation going, Doctor, did it not? I know you well enough to predict that the mere _mention_ of pharmaceutical development on Earth is enough to boil your blood in mixed enthusiasm and rage, and thus, would give me an hour’s worth of reading material in under a week’s time.”

“You—!” Julian didn’t even catch the beanbag, just smacked it back to Garak. “You weren’t scared we’d run out of things to talk about, were you?”

“Of course not.” Smack. Smack. “I keep a very long mental list of things you’re able to discuss with great passion to the nth degree.”

Julian grinned, shaking his head. He flung himself halfway out of bed to hurl the beanbag back to Garak before it fell to the floor. They were essentially playing tennis now, and the beanbag hadn’t fallen yet.

“What about you?” Garak asked, half-distracted as his eyes and hands darted for the beanbag over and over. “Were I not stoking your fires with kindling, do you – _h’ah!_ – imagine the ember would burn out? When so little _happened_ to me, I can’t imagine – oh, nearly – how you found any of my exploits of interest.”

“Well, it was _you_ trying to figure out where the leak in your bathroom pipe was, and – yeep – it was _you_ reverse-calculating the recipe for the biscuits they kept serving you, and – because it _was_ you, Garak, a Cardassian spy formerly of the Obsidian Order, and a good friend of mine, with a cramp in your foot, that I found it all – oof! – deeply fascinating.”

“You note – _ah_ – only the most – mundane – things,” Garak pointed out. “What of the observations I made of my cellmates? My prison guards? You’re so – _ha_ – obsessed by my history with espionage and yet, as you recount my letters, you barely skim the surface of the intel I provided you.”

Julian snatched the beanbag out of the air and held it. He looked at Garak and shook his head. “I wasn’t writing to you for _intel_ , Garak. Seeing through your eyes, seeing what you see in people, discovering their secrets through you – it’s amazing, it really is. And you _know_ I love an opportunity to run off at the mouth – or pen, in this case. But I do mean it. I was writing because you were the one reading. I was reading because you were the one writing. You could’ve coded every word and let me puzzle it out, only for me to realise you’d told me what you ate for breakfast, and I’d be happy just to have a suggestion for my own breakfast.” Julian shrugged, eyes down on his beanbag as he plucked at its fabric. “You could’ve sent me a blank page and I’d be glad you even thought of me.”

Garak gazed at him with cold pity when Julian looked up.

“How desperate you must’ve been,” Garak said, “for enjoyable company.”

Julian swallowed. Maybe Garak expected a retort; assurance; some indication Julian hadn’t been as alone as all that. But Julian could barely work up a smile. “Garak, I missed you so horribly.”

Garak blinked a few times, pity fading. Guilt overtook, or perhaps it was sorrow.

“I was afraid,” Garak admitted, quietly. Their eyes met. “I was terrified you’d grow bored of the medium to which we were confined. I hope you realise I lied to you, Doctor. Many a time. Just for something to tell you.”

Julian’s smile came out wonky. “I assumed most of what you said was a lie.”

“Oh, just some of, Doctor. Not most.”

Julian chuckled, head down. “Well, now I’ll have to go through all your correspondence again. Separate out truth from lies. Like a proper _Cardassian_ detective.”

Garak’s smile was definitely a proud one. “I look forward to hearing your findings.”

“You’ll get a report.”

“Oral, I hope. I’ve had quite enough of paper.”

Julian grinned. “We’ll discuss it over weekly lunches and daily tea breaks until kingdom come.”

“That, my dear Doctor, would suit me perfectly.”

Although the sun rose glimmering and golden inside Julian’s heart now, it was very much midnight in his head, and he stuffed a hand against his yawning mouth, eyes tight shut.

Garak hummed a laugh. “Perhaps it’s time we turned in.”

“Hmm.” Julian shifted on the bed, taking his beanbag in his hand as he got up. Garak handed him the mugs and Julian turned away and put them on the floor.

While he was down there, he stretched his hands to his feet, then stretched his arms up tall until his spine curved, then swivelled his torso side to side so his back clicked.

Then he tugged down his wedgie and laughed because Garak was sitting bug-eyed and half-covering his face with a hand, having seen the undershirt ride up right in front of him.

“Sorry,” Julian grinned, halfway between embarrassed and amused. “Didn’t mean to flash you.”

“Luckily for you, you have an aesthetically pleasing behind,” Garak said, neatening his blanket as he slipped under it. He gave Julian a nice smile. “But if you could refrain from _scissoring_ your legs as you clamber up to your bunk, I’d be much obliged.”

“Oh, God, I did that yesterday, didn’t I,” Julian uttered, hand on his forehead. “I really am sorry. I just left the station in such a rush I didn’t pack a damn thing. Leeta told me Quark had news, and the moment I heard you were getting out on parole I scrambled madly to make sure I’d get to you before you came back on your own.”

“It’s quite all right, Doctor,” Garak said, lying down. “Like I said.” His eyes sparkled. “You give me something nice to look at.”

Julian laughed, palming both cheeks with both hands. “Garaaaaak.”

“Only the truth, dear Julian.”

Julian bit his lip and hummed, eyes flicking to the pipe-lined ceiling of the bunk room. “Okay.” He tutted. “Go to sleep, Garak.”

He lifted himself into his bunk by the power of his arms alone, keeping his legs together.

He lay down in the bed Worf had slept in, nose wrinkling as he tucked himself in.

Julian did _like_ Worf’s smell. It was rich and earthen like a bolt of crisp autumn air. But it was awfully strong around here, and he could barely smell Garak at all, as his scent was so overpowered by the scent of the other man. Obviously Julian found Worf attractive – who wouldn’t? he couldn’t imagine – but Julian just wanted to smell _Garak’s_ happy-warm spice so he could sleep, and the sting in his nose was making it very difficult.

Julian got as comfortable as he could, but couldn’t get used to the smell. He tried resting his nose on the back of his own hand, then hiding his face inside his undershirt, then taking away the pillow and pressing his face to the place Worf’s hair hadn’t touched, but that peaty fog kept poking at his senses, and no matter how warm the bed was, he felt cold.

He’d slept in Garak’s bunk _last_ night...

He wondered if he could dare...

“Garak?”

No reply.

Julian fretted, nibbling his lip. “Garak... are you awake?”

He had to assume no, given the silence.

So Julian lay there, disturbed, arms folded.

He ran calculations in his mind: if Garak had fallen asleep a few minutes ago, his first sleep cycle would conclude in just over eighty minutes, so Julian had to wait that long before waking him. And he could ask to share the bed, and they could talk a little more, and he could watch Garak fall asleep... And then they’d wake up together again...

Oh, how Julian’s heart did flutter.

He sighed in longing, wishing time would speed up.

“Hnniihhh?” came a whimper.

Julian rocked onto one elbow, head turned to the edge of the bunk. “Garak?”

Silence.

Frustrated, Julian flopped back to bed.

A minute later, Garak’s breath started to shudder, and a quiet moan came from below. Julian’s skin chilled with pleasure. So Garak was having a nice dream. He wondered if saying Garak’s name had led the dream in Julian’s direction...

But the shudder became a gasp for breath and a utter of “N-no—”

Julian sat upright. “Garak?”

He swung himself out of bed and dropped both feet to the floor. He then leaned over Garak’s bunk, hands dipping the mattress. Below him Garak tossed and turned, stretched long in the bed with his chin tipped up, gasping like he was being strangled.

“Garak,” Julian whispered. He hesitated, then touched his fingertips to Garak’s cheek. “Garak, wake up.”

Garak clutched the sheets and snarled in his sleep— Then woke and tried to bite Julian, eyes wild. Julian backed up to the other side of the bunk room, hands raised in surrender, whispering apologies.

Now Garak sat upright, panting, clutching his chest with both hands. He saw Julian and hung his head, whimpering again, hair trickling forward to cover the shame in his expression.

Julian approached the bed cautiously. He sat.

He reached out and took Garak’s pulse in his neck – racing. He stroked his shoulder and down to his heart. Then down to hold his hands.

“You’re safe,” Julian said.

Garak worked on a few more breaths, taking them deep and letting them go slowly. He knew how to calm himself; he simply struggled.

Julian held onto him until the pulse in his wrists returned to normal and he breathed without strain.

Maybe the real lie, Julian realised, was not about what Garak said happened in prison. Maybe the lie was what he’d left out.

When Garak finally looked at Julian, he looked at him with grief and hope fighting in his eyes. He twisted his hands over Julian’s so he could hold them.

Taking that as an invitation to stay, Julian crawled into the bed and lay down under the blanket, not letting go of Garak’s hands.

Garak looked at him, expressionless – but then he lay down too and shut his eyes immediately, pulling Julian towards him, pulling Julian’s hands to hold Garak’s waist, then placing his own hands on Julian’s chest.

Garak let out one last relieved breath, but Julian could tell from his tense expression that he was a long way from returning to sleep. Whatever he’d dreamed, his nightmare’s dark ghosts still crowded the back of his eyelids and whistled in his ears.

Julian thought about how, barely a week ago, he’d gone to sleep fantasising that the lover in his arms was Garak. This was all he’d wanted. Yet it didn’t feel right to take so much joy from this, not the way he had before. Garak was too fragile in this state.

But he didn’t want to be fragile. Of course he didn’t. Maybe if Julian took his mind off things...

Yet Julian’s own mind couldn’t go far.

“Garak?” he said.

“Hm?” Garak didn’t open his eyes.

Julian swallowed. He rolled onto his back, blinking at the slats of the bunk above. An uneasy breath escaped him. “Can I ask you something... _personal_?”

Garak chuckled. He also rolled onto his back, hands lingering in Julian’s touch, then slipping away as he relaxed. “What good is an _im_ personal question, I wonder. Surely any question _worth_ asking cuts to the soul and shreds the mind to pieces in its effort to undo a person.”

Julian chuckled, shooting Garak’s profile a fond look. “It’s not as awful as all that.”

“Ask me soon, Doctor, lest I fall back asleep waiting.”

Julian gulped as he smiled, fingertips of each hand tapping together under the covers. “Have you...” he glanced at Garak again, wanting to see his face. “Have you ever... moaned the wrong name, during sex?”

Garak’s eyes snapped open. He looked at Julian in shock, laughter dancing in his eyes. “ _What_ a question!”

“Have you?”

Garak chortled as he set his curious gaze on the bunk slats. “No doubt you’re expecting me to lie?”

“I don’t know what to expect,” Julian replied. “I just want to know what you’d say.”

“Ah, an experiment.”

“No.” Julian shook his head. “I’m not playing with you. I really do want to know.”

Garak considered that for a while, blinking a few times. Eventually he looked from the upper bunk back to Julian, and drew a breath. Once he’d released that breath, he said, softly, “As it happens, Doctor, I’ve never _had_ sex.”

Julian burst out laughing, rolling to push Garak’s chest. “Okay,” he grinned, flopping back to his side of the bed. “That confirms _that_ theory.”

“What theory?”

“That you’ll always figure out the one lie to tell me that I’d never expect to hear.”

Julian didn’t need to look at Garak to see him smiling and shaking his head.

“May I ask _you_ a personal question?” Garak asked.

“Uh-huh?” Julian grinned, shifting his legs so Garak got more of the blanket.

“Whose name did you moan?”

Julian’s eyes shot to his friend, skin prickling all over. “What?”

Garak smiled his slyest smile. He didn’t need to take Julian through the process of why he came to such a conclusion. Julian’s panic settled, and he gulped a few times, eyes darting away, then settling on the bunk above.

“Suffice to say,” Julian said quietly, shyly, “I, um. I was with a woman. And I moaned... a’hh... a man’s... name.”

Of all the reactions he’d predicted, he didn’t expect Garak to _yelp_ and prop himself up on an elbow to stare at Julian.

“Doctor!” Garak’s eyes were brimming with gleeful stars. “I can’t tell you how _thrilled_ I am— You’re _attracted_ to men? Romantically, sexually? Intellectually? Or am I misunderstanding?”

Julian looked up at the enlivened Garak, his own lips rounding around nothing, unsure what to say. “IIIIII...” He shrugged. “You’re not misunderstanding. I suppose I don’t really... discriminate. If I like someone, I like them. Women. Men. Any kind of person, really. Sometimes I’m more in the mood for a certain gender or species or physical attribute, but... no. Yes. I can be _very_ attracted... to men.”

Garak seemed breathless, his smile shaking.

Julian rolled to face him, propping his head up on a hand. “Do you? Like men, I mean.”

Garak exhaled as he smiled, nodding. “ _Oh_ , yes. Romantically. Intellectually. Yes.”

Julian searched his eyes, hearing a space where another word ought to have been. Was it not a sexual attraction? Hungry to understand, Julian asked, “And women? Other genders? Do you...?”

Garak guffawed with his eye-ridges drawn down, looking as if Julian had said something ridiculous. “ _Really_ , Doctor,” he uttered at last. He gave a small shake of his head, eyes shifting between Julian’s.

Julian slumped back to the bed, fingers touching his chin as he pondered. “You’re asexual.”

Garak tutted, eyes rolling. “Your Federation tries so hard to put a _label_ on everything. You asked me a question and I’ve answered it. Whatever conclusions you draw beyond my answers are _uniquely_ yours.”

Julian needed a number of seconds to recalibrate his knowledge of Garak. All the fantasies he’d entertained where the two of them... would...

Well.

Those needed to be different.

“Assuming,” Julian said, “that what you’re saying is true—”

“Assuming.”

“Then... you really _haven’t_ had sex.”

Garak lay down. “I find,” he said directly to Julian, “such things don’t interest me.” He blinked twice, tiredly.

“Not at all?”

Garak shrugged a scaly-ridged shoulder, offering a calm look. “Perhaps I find myself occasionally appreciating a certain someone’s physique. Or absent-mindedly watching him undress in my shop’s changing room if he happens to leave the curtain open. But,” Garak went on, eyes dipping half-closed, “I’ve never felt the need to progress beyond, say... dining together, taking him on the occasional mission, and regularly having the most intimate of conversations.”

“Oh.” Julian felt tickled by that. “So you enjoy all the things... you and I do? I know I don’t always... close the curtain... completely.”

“Indeed.”

“S-So, we’re... sort of... already the closest you’d ever want to get with another man.” Although Julian was ecstatic to find that out, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He’d so hoped for more.

“Ah...” Garak inhaled, and snuck closer in the bed. He slid a hand around Julian’s waist and hugged him, smiling with his nose barely three centimetres away. “There’s always room for physical intimacy. Given the opportunity, my dear Doctor, I’d gladly share the bed. But... for nothing more risque than _this_.”

With that, he wrenched Julian right up to his body and cuddled him tightly, face buried in the crook of Julian’s neck. Garak sighed out loudly, gladly, and Julian melted from head to toe, whimpering.

He snuggled close too, getting himself cozy against Garak’s softness.

“Is this all right with you?” Garak asked, nosing Julian’s neck. “You’re not uncomfortable.”

Julian shook his head and nodded. “Hm.” He inhaled deeply and sighed out a moan. “I’m just fine.” God, Garak smelled _just right_. He smelled like a nap on a couch piled up with sequinned paisley cushions in burnt reds and deep purples on a sunny afternoon when there was a delicious dinner ready for later, no more work to do, and a day off tomorrow to read a thrilling spy novel. “Ohhhh, Garak, I’m good. I’m so _good_ with this.”

Garak purred, stroking up and down Julian’s back.

Julian bit his lip, eyes shut, eyebrows high. He felt so much _pleasure_ from this kind of contact, but it was _gentle_ – innocent, even – dancing in his chest and hands and lips, curling his toes.

He let out a juddering sigh and squirmed closer, setting a hand into Garak’s hair to stroke it between his fingers. His other hand scrunched into Garak’s pyjamas, but even the touch of that fabric wasn’t as blissful as the way Garak _held_ him.

Garak made a sweet and happy noise.

Julian tucked his chin back, about to move his head – but then he realised he couldn’t just barge ahead with affections the way he would with other people. “Garak, can I ask you something else?”

“Mm.”

“H-Have you... ever wanted to kiss... someone?”

Garak hummed a single note. “Some _one_?” He smiled, nodding into Julian’s neck. “Yes.”

Whether or not that was an invitation, Julian didn’t try and find out. He stayed where he was, fingers in Garak’s blunt-tufted locks, lips to his shoulder ridges. He breathed there, holding his dearest friend, and was held in return.

He barely got a moment to think – gosh, all his fantasises would have to be about _kissing_ Garak now, wouldn’t they; thank goodness there were so many ways to imagine being kissed – when consciousness slipped away from him, banished by comfort and warmth and the absolutely _unshakable_ feeling that this moment, this here, was the blank piece of paper he would’ve been only happy to receive in the mail.

It was missing the thing he expected and most longed for.

But, by _God_ , was it appreciated anyway.

  
  
**☆**  
  



	5. The Experiment

On the third night, Julian didn’t even bother getting into the top bunk. Once Garak was in bed, Julian crawled in beside him, still nattering away, and sat pressed against his shoulder with their arms overlapping.

Garak peered at Julian, but he didn’t interrupt his soliloquy to ask questions or complain that his bed had been invaded. So Julian stayed.

Once the mugs were empty, Julian set them both together on the floor.

Garak and Julian sank down and snuggled up together, Julian beaming all the while. Garak’s touches to Julian’s hips arrived tentatively – but once he realised Julian intended to stay the night, those hands slid all the way around Julian’s waist and brought him close enough that they could kiss if they tried.

Julian rested his cheek on his own knuckles, gazing at Garak as he lost his train of thought. He couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking about. He couldn’t even remember if he _had_ been talking – all the breath had gone from him and he floated, mindless and helplessly at peace.

Even in the gloom of the bunk, Garak’s eyes shone such a perfect crystalline blue. More affection was exchanged between him and Julian in this quiet moment, looking at each other and breathing, than could ever be spoken or written or shown any other way.

This was _trust_ , Julian realised. This was unconditional love.

How good it was just to _be_ , and to be seen without a mask. Unafraid in another person’s presence. No longer self-conscious. He had no reason to pretend he didn’t want to look, or touch, or pour his heart out about something incredibly niche because Garak was listening.

Julian felt like he could reveal to Garak the single deepest secret of his childhood, and it would remain in confidence. It would never leave this bed. And Garak would still love him afterwards.

Obviously Julian wasn’t actually going to say it. But he trusted that it would be well-received if he did, which was all that mattered.

He had no lie to tell, here.

Neither of them did.

Julian wondered if anyone would ever look at him like this again, once they left this bed, this room, this ship.

A shimmer of sadness drooped his lashes – and of course Garak noticed the flicker.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, softly enough that his voice felt like a second blanket covering Julian’s heart.

Julian dragged a breath in through his nose, keeping his eyes low. “We’ll be back to the station by tomorrow evening. So this is the last night that you and I can do... this.” He stroked the dip of Garak’s waist, feeling how his plumpness had all sagged towards the bed so the space under his hand was almost bony. “I’m going to miss it a lot, I hope you know. I’m going to miss _you_.”

Garak’s body shifted, and Julian met his gaze again, only to find Garak looking baffled.

Garak schooled his confusion into fondness, leaning a tiny bit closer to say, “I see no reason why this can’t continue once we return, my dear. If you’d prefer to keep a relationship with me a secret, I certainly have no qualms. I believe there’s plenty of room in your bed for two.”

Alarm flared hot in Julian’s torso and the back of his neck, and his attention snapped back and forth between Garak’s eyes. “Garak...” Breath short, hands sweating, Julian whispered, “Oh, God, Garak— I’m still dating Leeta.”

Garak didn’t react. Just stared.

Then Garak said, hesitantly, “You wrote that... the two of you began the Bajoran Rite of Separation.”

“We did.”

“But... Doctor, that must’ve been a full month ago. I’ve always been under the impression it’s a relatively short ritual. Hours; days; a few weeks at the most. How is it not completed yet?”

Holding tighter to Garak’s waist, Julian swallowed and hurriedly explained, “We got stuck in the middle of our breakup. You’re right; we started the ritual five weeks before I left to fetch you. But I didn’t— Um.”

Blushing now. Oh, God.

Gulp.

Exhale.

Julian continued: “Traditionally each of the separating parties takes three new lovers. But I-I-I didn’t really find anyone else I wanted to _perform_ the ritual with. So she and I aren’t _together_ -together, but officially we are still a couple. If I’m going to be sleeping with anyone once I get back, it would be her. At least until I can... you know. With some willing partners.”

Julian searched Garak’s eyes, but chilled when he saw that beloved blue gaze frosting over.

“What? Garak— Garak, it’s okay.”

“Is it, Doctor? _Is_ it?”

Garak tried to turn away, but Julian grappled for his shoulder and gently pulled him back.

“With the Rite of Separation,” Julian said, “you’re meant to sort of – expand your horizons. Seek out new opportunities with other people. I’m _meant_ to experiment. I’m meant to see what it’s like... being with... someone else.”

‘Experiment’,” Garak echoed.

“Mm-hm.”

Here goes. Time to lay it all bare.

Julian rolled a shoulder teasingly. “Um... Listen, Garak... since we’re hee-eere... w-what if...?”

That certainly got Garak’s attention.

“Perhaps, if you were okay with it, Garak... you and me could... try something...? If you were my first ‘lover’, I’d only _need_ two more people.” Biting his lip in a grin and tingling all over, Julian bumped closer in the bed to hug Garak – but Garak’s body went stiff and his usually-enveloping energy had retreated.

Oh...

Something was wrong.

And Julian wasn’t entirely sure what.

Throat starting to tighten, Julian insisted, “Garak... you can hold me. The way you want to. It’s really all right.” A breath shuddered out, hot and rough in his throat. “I _liked_ when we cuddled. Didn’t you? I... I thought...?”

Garak gradually softened. Gingerly, but without looking at Julian, he took him back into his arms and cradled him to his chest.

Julian let out a sigh of desperate relief, fingertips scrunching into Garak’s pajamas, cheek and nose pressed to his ridged clavicle through the material.

Julian’s entire body was sparkling in pulses like an aurora – frantic, nebulous relief. For a moment he’d been so afraid he’d been wrong, and this wasn’t unconditional love. Maybe he’d done something offensive without realising and had ruined everything. But as Garak gripped him tighter now, squeezing him and swaying him rhythmically, Julian began to relax.

Then Garak eased Julian back to look at him.

Julian’s content smile dropped away when he saw the pain in Garak’s expression. He seemed haunted. Distant. The ghosts of his nightmares were with him again. Was that somehow Julian’s doing?

Garak’s fingertips reached up to brush Julian’s lips. Julian shut his eyes and kiss-kissed his fingertips, but Garak immediately curled those fingers away.

“What?” Julian shook his head minutely, searching Garak’s gaze.

Voice weighed down with grief, Garak asked, “Why did you let me believe that I could have... that _we_ could have... everything I’ve ever craved from you? Why did you _offer_ me this comfort if you never intended it to continue?”

Julian’s heart and expression shattered.

Oh.

Garak... _loved_ him.

Julian had already theorised as much, but now he was sure.

Garak had made the _choice_ to show that love, through physical touch, through closeness and _trust_ – excruciatingly difficult things for him, no doubt – and now believed he was being punished for his choice. But he wasn’t being punished! He wasn’t! Didn’t he see?! He was being offered an opportunity!

Julian surged into Garak’s intimate space, taking his hands and holding them against his lips. “You can have whatever you want from me, Garak. Anything. Anything! I’m not trying to hurt you, I promise. Alright, I can’t be with you right away once we get back, but that doesn’t mean I don’t _want_ to be. This ritual just seemed like an easy excuse to – you know. Maybe I could’ve slept with you. Sex, I mean. Obviously that’s not happening now, given that you’re— Well. But a kiss counts!”

But Garak hid his eyes behind his curled hands as he took them out of Julian’s contact. Julian realised he was trying to conceal tears.

“Garak, no...” Julian held Garak’s head in both hands, stroking his hair back over and over his ear with a thumb. “I don’t _want_ to stop. You can have me. Take me. Claim me! Right now, come on! _Kiss_ me, Elim.” Breath shuddered, heart soaring— Desire burned him, fire on his tongue as he whispered: “Kiss me...?”

He tried to push his head close so Garak could touch Julian’s lips with his own, but Garak’s entire hand pushed into Julian’s face and shoved him away.

Bitterly, all warmth gone from his voice, Garak said, “If I’d known you were looking for an ‘experiment’, Doctor, I would have referred you back to your _lab_.”

Julian kept shaking his head, wishing Garak hadn’t latched onto that word, that wrong word, that misinterpreted word. _Experiment_.

“Garak, the ‘experiment’ is just a convenient excuse,” Julian said, chest hurting. “I’m _meant_ to find other people while I gradually distance myself from Leeta. But I only _wanted_ you. Nobody else. And if the Rite means we can have something, at least for now... why wouldn’t we take that opportunity? You’re not some stepping stone to greener pastures, Garak, you _are_ the pasture.”

Garak grunted. “And yet you’ll insist on taking two more lovers after me.”

Julian hesitated on a thought, then forged ahead: “Three, probably,” he said. “Because it doesn’t exactly _count_ , does it? I mean, you’re asexual. Whatever we get up to together isn’t really much of anything.”

He realised a single heartbeat after his sentence ended that it was the wrong sentence. The fact it had even crossed his mind was merely a mistake; saying it was madness. Now the words had passed his lips, they just about tore the universe in half during the silence that followed.

Garak swallowed. The way he looked at Julian expressed things Julian had never seen in him before. It seemed impossible to know what that expression meant – hurt, angry, amused, affectionate? Every feasible emotion sat conflicted on Garak’s face, making him unreadable. The only thing Julian was sure of was that Garak was _not okay_.

“I suggest,” Garak said, blinking twice and turning his staring eyes to the upper bunk, “you make yourself comfortable in the _other_ bunk. Permanently.”

Julian took a breath to argue, but Garak gritted his teeth and shot Julian a look that very plainly offered nothing. He was no longer welcome.

Julian exhaled all his breath, and pressed the backs of his hands to his tightly-shut eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Garak, it came out wrong, I didn’t—”

“Dcotor, _get_ out.”

Julian felt his lips quake and his stomach tighten. His entire insides became as grey as a stormcloud and as cold as a stone.

He got up, put his uniform on, then left the bunk room entirely.

  
  
**☆**  
  


Julian slumped beside Worf in the second pilot’s chair.

Worf looked at him. “Are you ill?”

“What?”

Worf studied him. “You appear unusually subdued and your complexion has drained of blood. I do not recommend you take this shift. You ought to return to the bunk room and rest.”

Julian stared at the console before him. “I’m... fine. Can’t sleep. I’ll just sit here for a few hours. Don’t mind me.”

Worf watched him for a while longer, then got back to the game of chess he was playing against the ship’s computer.

  
  
**☆**  
  


After a long, _painful_ spell of self-reflection in the co-pilot’s chair, Julian realised that his worst mistake, beyond what he’d said to Garak just now, was waiting so long before performing his part of the Rite.

Julian really thought he’d won the jackpot when Leeta said he could experiment with other people during their breakup. The thing was, he’d been procrastinating. Thinking about it; rehearsing; not acting. It felt too uncomfortable. He’d actually come to resent the ritual, how it urged participants to take lovers even when they didn’t want to. If only he’d pushed past his reluctance and slept with the recommended three people, he and Garak could’ve joined together after Leeta and whoever else were completely out of the picture. They could’ve been a real couple. Not some... experiment.

But, Julian wondered... would he and Garak have _gotten_ this close without the pretence of the Rite?

He sighed.

No.

No, he knew now: he wouldn’t have flirted so much with Garak if the Rite was already done and dusted. Julian really had needed the excuse to act. It felt like a dirty little romance game and he’d loved playing it. It was an opportunity to move more dangerously, to tease himself right up to the edge with his secret crush.

But then they both went over that edge.

Oh, but Julian hadn’t _known_. He hadn’t known Garak loved him. They’d been close for such a long time, but until last night Julian had never seriously considered that the romantic feelings were mutual.

God. If he’d had even the slightest reason to believe it was true, he never would’ve dated Leeta in the first place. That was just a fact. He really had been lonely. Garak was gone and he’d needed _some_ one.

Leeta was a delight. She wasn’t just ‘someone’; she was a flame in the darkness. Sugar and cream in pitch-black tea. A warm comfort in a cold bed.

But everything fell apart when Julian moaned Garak’s name.

Of course Leeta wanted to break up. And even then, she was kind enough to understand that Julian needed time, as the man he truly wanted had been in prison – and besides, moving on from a serious relationship wasn’t easy to do. So Leeta had waited. And waited. Finally she’d sent Julian on his journey to pick up Garak, relieved to know he would almost certainly make a move while away.

Yet, as intensely as Julian pined for him, toying with Garak wasn’t meant to have done anything besides entertain, soothing a craving that Julian had assumed could never truly be satisfied. He was so sure his feelings were one-sided. They had to be. Why else had Garak never tried to seduce him?

But then Julian realised how Garak felt about him; he realised Garak was, for all intents and purposes, non-sexual; he realised Garak _had_ seduced him over the years, just not the way he expected – and it all changed. The game had high stakes all of a sudden.

And Julian _hurt_ him. He’d hurt Garak. Because it _wasn’t_ a game. It wasn’t an experiment. It wasn’t meaningless or one-sided. Yet Julian treated it all like it was.

And Garak had given himself over to its reality.

_Trusted_ Julian.

Julian hated what he’d done.

He didn’t know how to begin to apologise. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe Garak ought to be involved with someone who knew what the game _was_ before they decided to play. Garak deserved better.

Julian needed to talk it over with Leeta the moment they got back; that much he knew. Once he told her what was going on, she might have some insight into how he could fix things with Garak.

...If there was even anything _to_ be done.

It seemed possible there wasn’t.

Julian still needed to finish the Rite. But he couldn’t think of a single person he wanted to mess around with. He cast a thoughtful look at Worf, but his stomach churned and he looked away.

He only wanted to be with Garak.

And he might’ve just driven him away for good.

  
  
**☆**  
  



	6. Holding Cell Four

The runabout returned to DS9 very late at night. Garak had stayed in the bunk room right up until they approached the station, at which point Julian had gone to fetch him. He’d used his softest, kindest voice. And he’d been met with a cold demeanour, blunt sentences, and a request that Julian leave the room so Garak could dress.

Worf thought little of the bickering that filled the cockpit as he steered the runabout up to the station. On their way to the prison, Julian had given his commander a thorough run-down of Cardassian-style romance and how excited he was to spend time with Garak as part of the Rite of Separation, and Worf had had no choice but to listen. When he’d opened his mouth to comment, he’d complained about the Rite of Separation being a dishonourable way to end a relationship, but then, several hours on, he said something very comforting: he could understand the urge to battle one’s partner as part of a mating ritual. Cardassians were more wordy than physical, he’d noted – which was what led Worf to realise _this_ bickering wasn’t flirting, but a fight, because Garak went silent and ceased to respond to Julian at all.

The plan had been for Julian to privately escort Garak to his quarters.

The plan changed the moment they docked.

Julian hung back, while Worf took Garak by the shoulder and steered him through the airlock. Garak wore no handcuffs, and he stood proudly, carrying his suitcase, but there was no mistaking the fact he was still a prisoner. Even on parole, his freedom was limited.

Julian watched Worf and Garak leave down the Promenade. His heart sank, and he stood in the airlock door for a while, head foggy and chest full of rocks.

He only realised the Promenade was crowded when he saw Leeta sweeping forth against the flow of people with a grin on her face; tides of red chiffon swam out behind her as she moved. She hopped up to the step where Julian lingered, took both his cheeks in her hands, and kissed him on the lips.

Julian frowned into the kiss and bowed his head out of it, hurting too badly to make sense of it.

Leeta didn’t even say hello. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, head tilted. “Did it... not go well? With Garak?”

“Ahh. No— No, it was... fine. We had a lovely trip, actually. Talked a lot. Ss-s-lept together a few times.”

“Oh! That’s great!” Leeta’s grin reached her eyes. “Bet you’re feeling pretty good right now, huh.”

“Leeta, I— I need to talk to you,” Julian said, catching her gaze and keeping hold. Why did he feel guilty? He didn’t need to feel guilty. “Maybe over a drink? Or dinner. Oh – but it’s a bit _late_ , isn’t it... Maybe we ought to wait until breakfast.”

Leeta glanced around at the crowds, then took Julian by the hand and hurried him a short way down the Promenade. She turned him into a darker nook between a wall-mounted gas canister and a control panel, and held his hands there, looking into his eyes.

“I need to tell you something important,” Leeta said.

Julian raised his eyebrows. “Right now?”

“I’m not waiting until _breakfast_ , I’ll lose my mind. I’ve wanted to tell you for weeks but it just didn’t seem _fair_ to say something, given Garak wasn’t here and you were so reluctant to enjoy your part of the Rite until you could see him.”

Curiosity overtook Julian in a fiery burst. “Go on...”

“The thing is...” Leeta glanced to the Promenade, then back, her eyes big and round and glossy with emotion. “Julian, I think I’m in love with Rom.”

Julian wasn’t certain he heard right. “I’m sorry?”

“Rom. We’ve been spending so much time together, and he’s just so clever! And so _cute_. And very sexy.”

“Clev... _sexy_?” Julian’s upper lip drew up. “Are we talking about the same Rom? The Ferengi, Rom? Quark’s brother, Rom? Works in the bar, Rom?”

Leeta nodded happily. “Mm-hm.”

“In love...” Julian’s heart was playing hopscotch.

He shook his head. “Okay. Okay, fine.”

He exhaled, resentfully coming to terms with everything. “You’re in love with Rom. I’m in love with Garak. But it’s _useless_ , Leeta, I can’t _do_ it. As much as I want to, and as much as _you_ want me to, I can’t _bring_ myself to break up with you. This damn Rite— I can’t flirt with someone else, it just – it feels _icky_. The whole idea...”

He shook his head over and over, placing his face in his hands. “It’s not just Garak that hates it. _I_ hate it. I promise you,” he peeked up at her, “under _any_ other circumstance I would’ve been over the moon to have an open relationship like this. With you. With Garak. With someone else. But—” He cast his eyes around high and low and distant, frantically searching for words that didn’t come.

“But you only want him.”

Leeta had such a wisdom about her. She tended to cover it under the bubbly, seductive mask that a dabo girl had to wear, but sometimes, in moments like these, the mask came down and she proved why she made such a _good_ dabo girl. And a good friend. She held her hand against Julian’s cheek and stroked with a thumb to soothe him.

“I do understand your discomfort,” Leeta said. “Don’t think I’ve been making you follow through with this Rite because I don’t understand.” She let her hand slip down, consternation on her face. “Honestly, I understand better than you might imagine.”

Julian sighed, knowing as much. There’d been times during Leeta’s time as a dabo girl that she’d had to engage in activities she wouldn’t otherwise volunteer for. But if she’d pushed through her reluctance, then Julian could damn well do the same.

“The Rite is Bajoran tradition,” Julian said, trying not to sound so stale about the idea. “I know. I know. I’m not about to screw up your connection to your heritage just because it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Hey,” Leeta said, leaning close and letting her warm breath touch Julian’s lips. “Let’s don’t and say we did?”

Julian blinked thrice. Attention hopping between her eyes, he said, “Pardon?”

“We sought other opportunities.” Leeta shrugged. “That’s the point of the Rite, isn’t it? We just... happened to find what we wanted on our first try. You and Garak. Me and Rom. Nothing wrong with that.”

“But we’re both meant to ‘experiment’ with three people. I know _you_ managed it! But—” Julian sighed. “Look, I might’ve misled you when I said I ‘slept’ with Garak. I mean I _slept_ with him. Asleep next to him. We haven’t even kissed.”

Leeta seemed dismayed by that. “He’s not interested?”

“Oh, he is. He is.” Julian hung his head. “It’s all a nasty, horrible mess, Leeta. I wish we could just – move on. I wish you and I could say we’re done and go our separate ways; no ritual, no ‘ _experiments_ ’, no breaking of bowls.”

“You mean the Human way. Your way.”

Julian shrugged. “Humans break up in all sorts of ways.”

“Julian?”

Julian looked at her.

Leeta smiled. “We’re done.”

Julian chilled with shock and hope. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m breaking up with you. Officially. Right now. Doesn’t seem fair to stick to my roots when you have roots of your own, right? Go on.” She leaned in and put a kiss on the tip of his nose. “Go get the villain of your dreams.”

Julian, his insides arush with static, grasped Leeta by the elbows and sank into one big, excited kiss, smooched her breathless, then burst apart from her with a grin on his face.

He poked the control panel beside him. “Computer, locate Elim Garak.”

The computer answered: “ _Elim Garak is in holding cell four._ ”

Julian frowned. “What? That’s not right. Computer, give me the _current_ location of Elim Garak.”

“ _Elim Garak is in holding cell four._ ”

Julian shared a worried glance with Leeta, then slapped his comm badge. “Bashir to Odo.”

“ _Odo here,_ ” came a familiar gruff voice.

“Where’s Garak?”

“ _Hurh! Finally realised he’s not where he’s supposed to be, have you? He’s in a holding cell, Doctor. Hasn’t been on this station five minutes and he’s already broken parole._ ”

Julian’s shoulders sank as his hopes dimmed. “I’ll be there in a minute. Bashir out.”

He gave Leeta a grim look, then slipped away from her, holding her hand until the last second. He felt cold without her comfort, drenched once again in the dread that came with the idea that Garak could be sent back to prison, and Julian would again be alone.

God. He knew Garak was upset – but why the _hell_ would he dare violate parole? Did he _want_ to go back to prison? Had Julian upset him so badly that he would rather spend three more months in a Bajoran holding cell being called ‘ _Pidgey_ ’ than sit down to have a tough conversation over tea with a friend?

Julian entered Odo’s dark and gloomy office, which was lit only by the neon green decimals at Odo’s back. The Changeling stood behind his desk, putting down a padd.

“What happened?” Julian asked softly.

“It seems your _friend_ decided to give Worf the slip before they even got as far as the Habitat Ring.” Odo handed Julian something waxy, flat, and familiar. “He used this corrupted skimmer keycard to jam the turbolift system, and made his escape into a crowd that gathered outside the lift. He was in the midst of disabling security tracking on the Docking Ring when Worf apprehended him and turned him over to me. Need I remind you, Doctor, that his moving around the station unattended is against the criterion of his release from prison.”

“I remember.”

“And tampering with station systems is an obviously illegal activity even for those without a record. A pity, isn’t it?” Odo mused. “I always imagined he had more restraint. Hrmph.”

Firmly. Odo went on: “I have yet to inform Captain Sisko of this development, but Garak will remain here until the Bajoran government makes a decision regarding his return to incarceration.”

Julian gasped and reached out.

Odo, intrigued by this reaction, clasped his hands behind his back and waited for an explanation.

“Could I... talk to him?” Julian asked, feeling heat in his chest and cheeks and ears. “I know he’s violated parole, I know he— I know he’s done terrible things. But I think... this particular thing... might’ve been my fault.”

“Oh?”

“Let me talk to him. Please.”

Odo seemed amused. “I’m sure you can talk him in or out of _any_ thing, Doctor, but I doubt a little one-on-one could turn back time.”

Julian sighed, letting all his breath go. “I realise that,” he said quietly. “But, God almighty, let me try.”

Odo stepped back and allowed Julian passage to the holding cells. With the press of a button he raised the door for Julian to step through.

The room of holding cells was bright white and such a stark contrast to the security office that Julian’s eyes throbbed in his skull. He saw Garak sitting hunched in a cell behind a glittering forcefield, hands over his eyes, and Julian’s heart and eyes ached for him. He could only imagine how much pain he had to be in.

Julian stepped up to the cell’s opening without a word.

He lifted the keycard to examine it, running a thumb over its logo-embossed surface.

Julian looked at Garak again.

Then he sighed.

“Where were you trying to go?” Julian asked him, as softly as he dared.

“Am I so unpredictable?” Garak replied without missing a beat. “Even to you, after so many years...” His head stayed in his hands. “Surely you can deduce the answer, Doctor.”

Julian thought about it. The corrupted keycard jammed the turbolifts, yes, but the fact Garak had held onto it meant he intended to use it again. Julian didn’t know a lot about the technology, but he knew its use was limited to vehicles that moved on pre-programmed routes. And Garak had been caught in the Docking Ring...

“Escape pod,” Julian realised.

Garak sighed.

“You were so close, Garak,” Julian said. “Another minute and you would’ve been home, back in your quarters. While you were away I made sure your space wasn’t reallocated. Everything’s just as you left it.”

“But nothing is the same.”

Garak lifted his head, squinting against the glare of the room. At first Julian thought that was why his eyes watered, but his heart clenched when he realised Garak had been crying.

“What is there for me here, Doctor?” Garak asked. “The man I love thinks a relationship with me ‘doesn’t count’.”

“Oh... Garak, _no_ —!” Julian breathed.

“I’m better off in prison,” Garak replied, eyes down again, jaw set firm. “I’m better off anywhere but here.”

“I said the wrong thing,” Julian pleaded. “It came out _wrong_ , Garak; that wasn’t what I meant at _all_.”

“But is it not what you believe?” Garak stood up, giving Julian a hard stare. “Whatever you feel about me – perhaps there is some genuine affection, as little as I understand it – would you not be ‘settling’? Would you not be giving up richer opportunities with people who _want_ what you want? My priorities have changed, Doctor. The fact is – as infuriating as it is for me – I do care for you. Deeply. And while I may not take much stock in the ideal of ‘happiness’, I understand... you do. And I would rather you be... happy.”

Julian had never heard the word said so sadly.

“Garak, you don’t understand,” Julian whispered, his throat tight. “If you’re not here I can’t _be_ happy. You don’t know what I went through without you.”

“So what will I become?!” Garak briefly lifted his arms at his sides, waiting for an answer Julian didn’t yet know. “What will I become to you if I stay? A young man’s _sensual experiment_. Your _teddy bear_. An afterthought in a relationship with several other, better, kinder people, eternally plagued by guilt for not wanting to _give_ you what you crave from me.

“Doctor, you say that in the last five weeks, you’ve struggled to find anyone else you wanted. Physical touch made with a particular intention makes you uncomfortable. The thought of making love with someone else makes you queasy. You cannot bring yourself to follow through, no matter how intently you want the ultimate outcome to come to pass. Imagine that, Doctor! Now imagine that was your entire life. Imagine you then found one person, one _person_ who you thought, perhaps, you might like to kiss. And he only wants you to see what you’re like in _bed_.”

Garak sat down again, gnawing on nothing, head turned so he could glare at an internal wall inside his holding cell.

Julian swiped tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he breathed. “Garak, I’m so _sorry_.”

Silence.

Julian swallowed hard, sniffing and wiping his face again and again on his sleeves. Face burning, eyes still prickling, he stood tall and tried to pull himself together.

Garak was heartbroken, that much was clear. But he was also furious. Not just at Julian for using him, but at himself for trusting someone despite a lifetime of learned instinct. The fact he’d been stuffed into a holding cell barely three metres across couldn’t be helping. The light certainly wasn’t.

Julian turned and left the room.

“Odo,” he said, once the door to the holding cells was properly sealed. “I want Garak moved to house arrest. Immediately. Doctor’s orders.”

“That’s entirely against protocol, Doctor.”

“He’s not staying locked up for another minute. He sleeps in that cell over my dead _body_.”

Odo held Julian’s eyes for a while, considering. Then he nodded once, and reached to poke at his console. Julian waited for the door to open again, then approached the holding cell. The moment Odo disengaged the forcefield, Julian stepped inside with Garak.

He sat down beside him and held the edge of the bench in his curled palms. He exhaled, then said, gently, “I’m having you moved to your quarters.”

“For what purpose?” Garak gave Julian a suspicious, narrow-eyed look.

“I’m going to fight this, Garak. I am. You’re not going back to prison. You only acted out today because I upset you. I—” A shuddering breath burned Julian’s tongue on its way out. “I’ve been horrible to you and I didn’t even realise. Prison was meant as a punishment for you, but _I’ve_ felt trapped – and I’ve been trying to figure out what I did wrong to deserve your absence. Maybe I’ve done _everything_ wrong.”

He looked at Garak with his whole body pounding with pressure; desperation, desire, despair. “I need you to believe me: I’ll care about you regardless of what you _do_ for me, or won’t do. Regardless of what actions you take. Whatever you do, or say, or think of me – I’ll still miss you if you’re gone. And maybe it _is_ selfish, but I’m not letting anyone drive you away again. Including myself.

“Garak, what I said was – wrong. So wrong.” Julian rubbed his eyes with his fingers as they stung with regret. “Of _course_ whatever I have with you _counts_. I’m sorry for saying it didn’t. I’m sorry that, in that moment, I believed it. I’m sorry it ever crossed my mind. I’m sorry I didn’t understand and didn’t try hard enough to do so before I spoke. I – am – _sorry_ – that it took me so damn long to realise how you felt about me. I’m sorry I used your feelings as leverage to get what I wanted. I squandered your trust in a _stupid_ moment of greed and I’m sorry for that, too.

“Leave if you want, Garak. I’ll understand. I’ll help you. I’ll make everything easier for you, wherever you go, I promise. But... if you stay...” Julian met Garak’s gaze and held it, head tilted. “Please. You don’t have to forgive me. Just let me make this _right_.”

Garak’s eyes had settled on Julian’s lips, but now sank away.

With an air of resignation, Garak said, “If my quarters have been empty for three months then the environmental systems have been disabled. The room would be at or below ten degrees centigrade. It’ll take nearly an hour for it to heat up to a tolerable temperature for me and remain stable.”

Julian thought Garak was about to reject his offer and opt to stay in the cell, but when Garak spoke, he spoke to Odo: “If I’m to be confined to quarters, I choose Dr. Bashir’s quarters.”

Shock zapped down Julian’s spine.

“That is, unless,” Garak’s eyes slid to Julian’s, “I’ll be getting in the way of relations between yourself and Miss Leeta.”

Julian shook his head, lips slightly slack. “We don’t live together anymore.” He gulped. “Um... Mm-my quarters are... bigger, anyway. You wouldn’t be so confined.” He suddenly remembered something, and burst out: “Oh, and Leeta and I aren’t a couple! The Rite is over. Cancelled. I don’t need to ‘experiment’ with anyone. We broke up the Human way before I came over here to fetch you.”

Garak’s eyes widened. He looked at Julian carefully, then huffed at him. “Could you not have told me that the moment you arrived? You could’ve saved us both the embarrassment of having Constable Odo overhear such mawkishness.” He stood up and stepped out of the cell, giving Odo a polite smile.

He turned. “Lead the way, Doctor.”

Julian slowly got up, and exited the cell. “Garak...”

“Yes, Doctor.” Garak seemed almost cheerful now, brushing himself down like he was dusty.

“Ah-Ar-Are you... moving... in with me...? Or are you just... staying for tea and biscuits until your quarters heat up?”

Garak caught his eyes. He seemed stunned by the question. “Would you like me to move in with you?”

“Oh.” Julian’s skin fizzed. “Oh. Um.” He gulped, but was already nodding before he remembered how to speak. “Yes. Yes. I— I’d love that. Do you – want? I mean, if you don’t, that’s fine, obviously, but I didn’t really _expect_ —”

“Doctor.” Garak smiled his widest crinkly-eyed smile. A hand grasped Julian’s arm and held it softly. “Julian...”

At a loss for words, Garak exhaled and dropped his shoulders. Then he stepped up, held Julian’s cheek, and put a little kiss – _smick!_ – on the side of his lips. Julian was so astounded that his mouth opened only once Garak was gone, and he had to close it again, sucking his lower lip under his teeth to soothe the throbbing.

“Gosh,” Julian whispered, as his lip slid free. His fingertips touched his mouth, then dropped away, now also tingling. Birds in his belly kept on swooping.

Odo stood by the door to his office, arms folded. “Are you two going to leave at any point tonight or do I have to have cots brought in?”

“Aah,” Garak said mysteriously, turning his eyes to Odo, “I think only one such cot would be required, should the need arise. But... there is no need.” He looked at Julian again. “Shall we go, my dear?”

He offered his elbow, and Julian took it, grinning.

Odo harrumphed as they passed. “I’ll remind you, Doctor, this man is a criminal.”

“You’re the one letting him out against protocol, Constable,” Julian said, tossing back a smile to Odo. “I don’t think you enjoy seeing people you’re fond of restrained in captivity any more than I do.”

Odo stood in the middle of his office, watching them leave, looking a bit vulnerable as he did.

  
  
**☆**  
  



	7. The Reward

Garak stared for quite some time at the applewood box with a regnar lizard carved on its top. The regnar posed as if relaxed, chin up, fanned scales on its back laying flat, tail curved casually beside its back talons. Its mouth was slightly open, and it always seemed to Julian to be smiling. Garak smiled too as he looked.

Julian left him there to look, but by the time he returned from his bedroom having made the bed, Garak hadn’t moved an inch.

“Would you like to see inside?” Julian asked softly, going to Garak’s side.

Their warmth merged and their shoulders pressed as Garak peered back.

“May I?”

“Put your suitcase down,” Julian said, picking up Kukalaka and offering the remainder of his dresser’s surface for the case. “In the next few days, once you’re settled in here, we’ll make something proper to put your letters in.”

While Garak put down his case, Julian hugged his teddy bear under one arm and opened the wooden box.

Garak had written all his correspondence on standard Bajoran brown paper, but all his envelopes varied in colour and style depending on what kind of scrap craft materials had been available in prison. Given that he opted to construct his envelopes himself, he made a hobby of decorating them, whether with doodles or full-blown paper art – animals drawn from memory, fantastic cosmic landscapes, still-life line art renderings of his dinnerplate – or, on occasion, calligraphic poetry.

Garak flipped through Julian’s mighty collection, beaming.

Julian watched him smile, heart suspended as he anticipated a moment when he could press closer.

“I just wanted to have you around,” Julian murmured, eyes lowering to Garak’s breathing chest. “I wanted to see you; I wanted to see you anywhere I looked. I put your art in every corner of the room, pinned on the walls, propped up on my nightstand, tucked under my pillow...” His breath shook and he glanced down completely. “Really, I’m surprised it took Leeta so long to realise...”

The moment Julian looked up, Garak met his eyes, and they gazed at each other for a while. Garak still smiled, shining from the inside out.

Overwhelmed by blooming affection, Julian blinked twice and nosed in to put a tender kiss on Garak’s cheek. Unable to resist now he was there, his lips moved via kiss, kiss, _kiss_ to Garak’s lips and there he pushed, mouth slightly open, ribs cracked to show his soul bare and gorgeously vulnerable. One hand stroked Garak’s jaw, nose pressed to his skin even as the kiss ended.

Breath fluttered; smiles danced.

Garak took Julian’s cheek and held it, bodies facing each other now.

Julian fastened Garak’s stocky waist into both hands and drew a breath from Garak’s exhale. He still fizzed with lightning, still shocked that this kind of closeness was _possible_ between them.

“Doctor,” Garak said softly, eyes shut, pressing his forehead to Julian’s temple. “You haven’t asked, but I’m sure you’ve guessed the answer.”

“What was the question?” Julian smiled.

“Whether I... forgive you. And I do. I forgive what you said to me.”

Julian’s body sagged in Garak’s arms, relaxing muscles he hadn’t realised were tense.

“It was insensitive,” Garak went on, “but... I know you better. You’re a kinder man than you are in your worst moments. And...” He smirked, leaning back to meet Julian’s eyes. “I can live with the occasional insensitivity...” he turned his eyes to the eighty-something letters they’d amassed between them, then lifted his gaze back to Julian’s, “if it comes entwined with such devotion.”

Julian wasn’t entirely comfortable with hearing that. “What do you want from me, Garak?”

He found himself slipping out of Garak’s hold, stepping back. “I can apologise until the universe collapses in on itself, but you _were_ right: I did believe what I said. Something I really value in a romantic relationship is just – not going to be _part_ of this one. So, to some extent, perhaps I am ‘settling’. But I hate that idea, Garak. It’s not... _true_. I’ve _wanted_ to have sex with you but I’m not going to, now. And I have to be okay with that. Because I want _you_ more than I _want_ you, if that makes sense.”

“If?”

Julian snorted with laughter. “Sorry. I just mean – this.” He gestured at the letters, then put Kukalaka down between the two letter collections so his brown paws bridged the gap. “This was our entire relationship. This _is_ , _still_ , everything we have. Years worth of... conversation; questions, answers; emotional vulnerability... trust. We know more about each other than... dare I say it, Garak... anyone else in the universe knows about either of us.”

Garak inclined his head a little; it was an easy assumption.

“I can’t ask you for more than this,” Julian said, indicating the letters again. “Because I don’t need more. I think—” He exhaled and took Garak into a tight, desperate, loving hug. He scrunched his hair and kissed his neck and breathed down his collar, then stood back again, still holding his clothes. “Maybe this is everything I _ever_ wanted. And I didn’t even realise.”

His eyes welled with tears and he let them fall, hoping they’d prove how much he believed what he said. “I just wanted you with me, Elim. And feeling your touch when Leeta touched me, thinking about you, wanting you _close_ – that was the only way I could imagine _getting_ closer. Because you had all of me, already.” He breathed out. “Elim, I _love_ you.”

He froze with terror as those last words passed in a whisper from his lips. Yet Garak didn’t look at all surprised.

Warm Cardassian fingers gently swept the wetness from Julian’s jaw, and chased the last rolling tear up to its source. Garak made Julian chuckle as he brushed damp lashes under a thumb...

Julian found himself taken into a hug, a secure enveloping of his entire torso and head. He stood in the hot, dark pressure, breathing.

“What do you want from me?” he murmured into the beat of Garak’s heart. “I don’t know what I can give you. I have _nothing_.”

Garak actually laughed, shaking Julian in his grip.

Julian felt a kiss pushed to his forehead, then another to his cheek.

He lifted his head and shut his eyes as Garak gave him a chaste little lip-kiss, smiling all the way through it.

Garak pulled back...

“You could give me nothing, Doctor.” Garak gazed at him, eyes atwinkle. “And I would be content. I suppose the beauty is in the irony: I do like to be hurt. I enjoy being... used. Manipulated. The fact you have the _capacity_ to draw enough truth from me in order to hurt me only makes me grow ever-fonder of you, my dear. For most of your kind, I imagine, such a relationship would be—”

“Abusive! My _God_ , Elim, what the hell are you talking about?!”

Garak laughed. “Oh, but my dear: Cardassian values and Human morality do not intersect so easily. You know all too well how much of my species expresses love through dissidence. What seems cruel to you is nothing but a pleasure for me.”

Julian harrumphed. “Well, I’m not going to upset you on _purpose_.”

“No. But rest assured: I look forward to finding reasons to forgive you.”

Uncomfortable again, Julian glanced away.

“Doctor.” Garak gazed at him so pleasantly, smiling. “The things you’ve forgiven of me are far more heinous in nature than an unfortunate slip of the tongue. The act of forgiveness does not erase the wrongdoing. If it did, there would be nothing to forgive. But forgiveness shows... there’s still room to love, I believe.” He took Julian’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “There is always space... for love.”

Julian found himself smiling.

He’d found it. Truly unconditional love.

He let Garak kiss his cheek again, blushing as he did.

  
  
**☆**  
  


They got into their sleepwear standing back-to-back in the dim bedroom, but neither asked whether the other was done before turning around. They shared a disappointed yet delighted smile, finding each other completely modest.

Garak gave Julian’s pinstriped pyjamas a discerning look. “Perhaps not as titillating to look at as your ill-fitted undershirt, but at least there’s enough spare fabric to work with.” He plucked at the pyjamas’ lapels, then fiddled with the shoulder seams, tucking them in by a few centimetres. “ _How_ you’ve managed to gather together a wardrobe made entirely of things that don’t fit when you have a tailor as your closest companion is _quite_ beyond my understanding.”

Julian mirrored Garak’s touches, playing with Garak’s soft-fabric pyjamas, but his hands stayed there, obsessed with the feeling under his fingertips and palms.

“Doctor...”

Julian let his hands fall away. “Sorry.”

“Oh – not that. Here.” Garak swept up Julian’s hand and returned it to his clothes. Julian smiled and carried on stroking, eyelids dipping half-closed in his contentment.

“I only meant to ask,” Garak said, “whether you intend me to live out the rest of my prison sentence in these quarters. You said you’d keep me from being sent back to Bajor, and I trust you’ll achieve that. My apologies for making such work for you. But—”

“You can come and go, Garak; you’re not _locked_ in here,” Julian said. “But you do need a Starfleet escort outside of these quarters. Then you can go back and forth to your shop, and to the Replimat, and so on.”

“And you’ll provide such a service?”

Julian grinned. “Do you want me to?”

Garak snuck a kiss against Julian’s jaw, nodding into the touch. “Please do. I doubt Mr. Worf would be anywhere near as patient with me.”

Julian tugged on Garak’s clothes and eased him towards the bed. Garak waited until Julian had crawled under the blanket and roll-roll-wriggled still, then set a knee on the mattress and followed Julian under the covers.

Julian opened his arms and grinned as Garak fell to lie with him.

Snug.

Cosy.

Julian purred and nuzzled his face into Garak’s heat. He rolled Garak flat onto his back and lay close enough to overlap their torsos, then promptly began to rub the entire left side of his face on Garak’s chest.

Garak hummed a laugh, and started stroking his fingers through Julian’s hair.

Sometimes he’d tug, sometimes he’d let locks flutter past his thumb and rustle back into place. Sometimes he’d keep his hand still, and let Julian move it as he kissed Garak’s pyjama-soft chest.

Feeling naughty, Julian undid a couple of Garak’s top buttons. Holding Garak’s eyes, he dropped a kiss onto his clavicle – but then lay down again, beaming, eyes shut, giving Garak a big, friendly squeeze.

Garak exhaled. “I have one question.”

“Hm?”

“Would you still write to me?”

Julian lifted his head and propped his chin on Garak’s heart. “When?”

“Tomorrow. Next week. A month from now.” Garak tucked a hand under his hair and lifted his head to look down at Julian. “I now suspect our little tiff came of the fact that you became rather used to formulating your thoughts into written essays, taking your time to consider your points before writing them permanently on the page. The spoken language must seem so ephemeral in comparison that it simply slipped your mind that not every thought must be expressed.”

Julian lay his cheek down again, sighing as he stroked a hand down Garak’s body. “I’ll write. But only if you’ll still write me poems.”

Garak chortled. “You spent so long disgracing my Cardassian prose that I imagined they did nothing but infuriate you.”

“Oh, they did.” Julian shut his eyes and nuzzled again. “I can’t stand them.”

“And yet?”

“Well, I love _you_. And if writing poems make you happy, and if annoying _me_ makes you happy, then I’ll suffer the odd pun willingly.”

“ _Happy_ ,” Garak said, as if the word’s existence was a slight upon his honour.

Before Julian could launch a complaint against Garak’s blanket resistance to contentment, Garak spoke again.

“Happy,” Garak said again, with a very different tone.

Curious; interested.

Julian peeked up at Garak while Garak peeked down.

As Julian wriggled higher to give Garak a kiss, Garak grinned. Julian stopped before he kissed him, wanting to know what made him light up like that.

“What?” Julian pressed.

Garak just shook his head, eyes gleaming. The smile on his mouth had reached his eyes and sparked deep within his soul. He took Julian behind one ear and brought him in for that forsaken kiss, making it a long, slow, gentle one.

He rolled Julian onto his back and smooched him there, mouths rolling, hands holding, hearts pressed tight together and beating echoes of each other.

The kiss ended with a helpless grin from Garak. Oh, how he shone now.

“Happy,” Garak said, as if it was a new word he’d never heard before, and actually, he quite liked it. He shrugged with arched lips and a tiny head-tilt, flopped over to lie beside Julian, and then hummed a bright note, still smiling.

“Computer, lights,” he said.

Even in the dark – perhaps more so in the dark – Julian could sense Garak’s happiness. It changed his breathing. It was vocalised in his tiny sigh. It heated his hand as his fingers spread and locked between Julian’s.

And...

In the years Julian had been acquainted with Garak, he’d learned that in Garak’s most enlivened moments his Cardassian pheromones would fill a room like the aroma of a rich winter dinner, crackling hot and steaming. Wholesome; spicy; humid and dense and delicious.

Right now the joy in Garak’s scent eclipsed any and all previous memories of such things.

He was not a feast, but a festival.

Julian rolled to cuddle him, breathing in as deeply as his lungs would allow.

He exhaled, and Garak moved to hold him close as he did.

Innumerable confessions could be written; talking points could unfold forever between them. But some things didn’t need to be explained. It was said in breaths and touch and the pressure between them now.

Garak had gone all his life thinking he could only be wrong; he could only be bad. Choices came back to haunt him. Freedom would inevitably cause him pain. Joy and happiness would result in punishment. And thus he fought against those things. He baited others into making decisions for him; he surrendered to the fates others imposed; he rejected the notion of happiness until the word itself was meaningless.

And yet Garak _chose_ Julian.

Perhaps things between them wouldn’t work out.

But...? Perhaps they would.

This wasn’t a setup to punishment.

Whatever happened between them from now on could only be a reward.

**{ the end }**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you had a good time reading that!!
> 
> ☆ [**Art post on tumblr!!**](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/631639718997721088/julian-garak-share-a-runabout-bunk-parole-23k) (Reblogs greatly appreciated~ I love when new people find my stories ^u^)  
> ☆ [And a text post with the summaries of both fics~](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/631640534757310464/hello-garashir-people-here-are-two-new-garashir)
> 
> [You can find **all my Garashir fics** (currently 25) here](https://archiveofourown.org/works?utf8=%E2%9C%93&commit=Sort+and+Filter&work_search%5Bsort_column%5D=revised_at&include_work_search%5Bfandom_ids%5D%5B%5D=8474&work_search%5Bother_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bexcluded_tag_names%5D=&work_search%5Bcrossover%5D=&work_search%5Bcomplete%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_from%5D=&work_search%5Bwords_to%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_from%5D=&work_search%5Bdate_to%5D=&work_search%5Bquery%5D=&work_search%5Blanguage_id%5D=&user_id=almaasi) if you’re in need of sappy, soft, and sometimes sexy stories set in space. And please [**subscribe here**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/) if you want email updates with my new fics~ ♥
> 
> In particular, I shall direct you to [**Scones and Skants**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25964296), which is a fic I wrote after this one, in order to expand on the line in this story about Julian wearing a skant c:
> 
> Wishing wonderful things for you, dear space friends.  
> Elmie x

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Truth in Misdirection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27004306) by [ettaberry_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ettaberry_tea/pseuds/ettaberry_tea)




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